Nostalgia
by ange13
Summary: nostalgia: a bittersweet longing for things, persons, or situations of the past Leroux and ALW based Erik
1. Chapter 1: The Young Student

**A/N: thanks for reading! This chapter is just a small introduction so the next ones will be longer.**

A dust-coating, leather-bound book had lain on the desk in a state of complete abandonment for the majority of the previous three months. This would be the first time it would've been opened since then. There was a quiet squeak emitted from the old book from being left alone for so long upon opening it to the first page. One had to be careful whilst opening it to prevent any loose documents from spilling out. And there was the first document- a brief letter written in a childish cursive scrawl in cheap ink.

\- - - Several years ago - - -

The naïve brunette girl, who had been crying before a candle only but a month ago, left a folded note on the windowsill of the opera's chapel. As soon as she scampered off, her angel appeared in the room to secretly pick it up for further investigation. They had begun their vocal lessons about three weeks prior in this very room, him hiding in the walls and listening to her young voice following the accompanying sound of his violin playing. As this girl was still quite young, her teacher granted her weekends to rest her voice, which was why he was so surprised to see her visit their room for lessons on a Saturday night to leave him a note.

Erik concealed himself back in the wall, feeling anxious to read what his budding student had written to him. He seated himself in a comfortable chair and read her writing with a surprising ease, granted that she didn't attend a formal school nor had time to develop her handwriting. The small note read:

 _Hello Angel,  
Please thank my father in heaven for sending you to take care of me and fulfilling his promise to me. Tell Papa that I miss him. As for you, I enjoy our lessons together, even though I can never see you when you're teaching me since you're an angel. I know that Christmas isn't on one of my rest days, but the girls in the ballet (including me) will be gone for the whole day. I'm sorry Angel, I shall come next Saturday to make up for it.  
Thank you,  
Christine_

Ah, so he found out his dear student's name was Christine. Her surname wasn't a mystery, as it was posted underneath a picture of her deceased father in the chapel: Daae. This simple note was kept in a locked desk drawer in Erik's music room, to be later viewed when Christine's teacher felt the need to amuse himself with something other than music, sketches, cast hauntings, the Daroga's unannounced visits, and affairs of the Opera Populaire.

He remembered then to collect his salary from Box 5 and sneak out before all of the Parisian shops closed. Even though he wasn't a man known for his compassion and care for others, he wasn't completely heartless. His Christine was left alone without family, something Erik knew quite a bit about, and would only have the bratty ballerinas-in-training to celebrate such a large holiday. Normally, this "angel" would've requested his Persian friend to do any shopping for him but this case was quite different. The Daroga would've immediately inquired about this poor young girl and her involvement with him then discouraged any further contact. There was something curious about this Christine that wouldn't let her slip from his mind so easily.

So the day after Christmas, Erik's singing pupil crept down to the familiar chapel and noticed a small, elegantly-wrapped box sitting atop the windowsill where she had left a note for her angel only days before. Christine quickly read the tag, inquisitive to find out who had left this and what was inside. The tag instructed that part of her gift would be to still have her day off, even though she missed her last lesson, and it wished her a _Joyeux Noel_ from her angel. Once the box itself was opened by her eager fingers, Christine's clear blue eyes widened open seeing a beautiful silver brooch in the shape of a rose along with a new pair of pale blue gloves.

"If you can hear me, Angel, thank you ever so much." She said, glancing all around the room as if looking for someone to appear.

Though the girl didn't see anyone, her angel did hear her...and he saw her wonderous expression when seeing the gift. Erik felt the ends of his mouth twitch upwards in a small smile, feeling good about what he did for his orphaned student. Maybe there would be a chance that he would tell the Daroga of this occasion...


	2. Chapter 2: The Composition

\- - - Still several years ago - - -

"You _what?!_ " The Daroga had shouted at him in shock at his confession.

"I've only been instructing the girl. She was the one who insisted on calling me an angel and thinking I was sent to guide her."

"That is no exc-"

"Oh but if you'd have seen her poor face- crying such bitter tears almost every night for over a year! Then this girl comes in one night absolutely frustrated, declaring that her father's spirit abandoned her, for the Angel of Music he'd promised her never arrived. What was I to do, Daroga?" Erik huffed, heading in the direction of his music room.

"Leave her be." He muttered quietly.

His Persian friend couldn't convince him to think of any negatives of his communication with the young girl. The night was spent composing a short, sweet piece for her. His finished product resembled the sound of Schumann's Schlummerlied, meant to be played softly on the violin, granted playing "softly" and on the violin weren't the best showcase of his musical abilities. It took almost a week for him to muster enough courage to actually play it for his student while she was drifting off to sleep in the ballet dormitories. Christine informed her teacher the next night of the wonderful music she'd heard just before their lesson began, saying that it was a lovely reminder of her father and that he must've been an angel for it.

Erik couldn't find it in himself to let down her fantasy of an angel and just continued on to their lesson.

And he later stuck the page of his lullaby in the same locked desk drawer, deciding strongly against telling the Daroga of this occasion. Erik spent the remainder of his energies on the composition of what he hoped to be his life's work- a dramatic romance opera titled "Don Juan Triumphant". For this he played on his organ, occasionally humming out a tune with his voice to see how it would suit the vocal chords when sung. Perhaps his Christine could star in this opera by the time her voice blossomed into its polished, matured form.

He hoped that this orphaned girl wouldn't become a bit of a harlot like many of the current girls in the corps du ballet, only seeking to secure herself a wealthy man. There was only so much he could try to keep her from doing, being nothing but an invisible teacher to her. Erik knew that his mysterious form as her angel wouldn't last forever as his student grew older and less naïve. She would have to have suspicions of who he really was, and he dreaded that day. For now, he was to do his best in instructing her and gaining the girl's trust.

\- - - Current time - - -

Erik chuckled to himself, seeing the messiness of his crude composition for when Christine had been so young. He'd titled it simply, _Berceuse pour ma etudiante,_ not wanting to complicate the name or seem too attached to the melody. It worked like magic for the nights when she would toss and turn restlessly with her eyes staring up at the ceiling, somehow allowing her to relax and finally drift off to sleep.

Reminiscently humming the tune to himself, Erik flipped the page of the old book and found just a few of his charcoal sketches. All of which happened to be the young Christine in various poses he'd seen her in throughout her rehearsals with either the ballet or with him. Her eyes always had such an innocent gleam to them, revealing how hard she was trying to do her best for her instructors. There were always a few misbehaving curls of her dark hair that stuck out from the ribbon she'd tie around it and slight imperfections in her posture, for both singing and dancing.

The musician began his sketches of her just as a form of practicing one of his old artistic talents, never really having drawn the delicate form of a girl before. Now he was pleased with his thought to have captured Christine's childish form for him to look back upon. These drawings were never seen by the Daroga and never would be; they were much too personal for his criticizing eyes. Erik knew he would've long been scolded for doing such a thing.

His student continued to grow, her voice becoming stronger through their lessons over the next few years, and she was assuredly more clever. Erik could tell that Christine had been questioning the true form of her strange instructor, who appeared to be but a disembodied voice echoing throughout the chapel walls. She must've been about 12 years old when she finally asked about her teacher.

\- - - Back when Christine was 12 - - -

"Angel, I am truly grateful for your instruction. But may I ask _you_ something?" She shyly pleaded, fixing her gaze to the floor in fear of having to deal with the more snappy attitude of her teacher.

"If you must." He replied stoically.

"What are you really? My friend Meg keeps telling me about a mischievous ghost haunting the opera but won't believe that my teacher is an angel. Are you a spirit perhaps?"

He sighed, feeling his heart drop in his chest before answering: "Unfortunately I knew you would ask such a thing sooner or later. Yes, child you're correct in assuming that I'm no heavenly angel. I only know that your father was a great violinist and that you miss him terribly. Only a heartless wretch could've ignored your cries in this chapel."

"Are you the Opera Ghost then?"

"Yes and no. My story is a complicated one that would take much longer than one lesson to explain. Besides, you still need to work on your breathing to hold out a proper fermata with a deep vibrato so we cant waste any time speaking of my origins."

The girl was still quite young and, not wanting to upset her teacher, decided against questioning him further for the time being. She nodded in response before proceeding to restart the aria he'd given her to practice, even though her mind was asking a million questions about him. How did her teacher hear and see her if she couldn't see him? There was no place for him to hide in the tiny chapel. Was she being instructed by a ghost? Surely ghosts weren't known for teaching young orphans how to sing. But there was no way he could've been a man, for regular men didn't possess the ability to have their voice echo from anywhere in the room nor draw her attention so undividedly.

So Christine accepted that her teacher was not an angel, but rather some other fantastic being that was invisible to human eyes. She would hear the distant sound of a violin lullaby playing, very much reminiscent of nights she remembered with her father who'd play for her to make his daughter fall asleep. Her dreams consisted of early childhood memories of the ocean and things she imagined about the mysterious teacher; sometimes he would be a shadowy man, other times he was an ethereal ghost with no distinct form. But in real life, she still referred to him as "angel", only now as a term of endearment as he hadn't provided her with a different name to call him by.

Meanwhile, Erik would get rushes of anxiety due to his fear that the one person who hadn't cowered before him would decide against blindly trusting his deception.


	3. Chapter 3: The Pink Ribbon

Months passed on with Christine respecting her teacher's privacy, not wanting to disturb his recent, fairly positive moods. Erik began watching her more often from his hiding places in the rafters and walls of the stage area, as he didn't have much else to occupy his time with. He noticed her soft-spoken behavior and which members of the whole cast treated her nicely or vice versa. As the resident ghost, it was his duty to maintain people's beliefs in him by occasionally wreaking havoc or playing pranks on them, along with making requests of the directors. He didn't earn 20,000 francs a month for nothing.

As the grueling rehearsal for their production of _Orlando_ ended that evening, and the cast cleared off the stage, Erik noticed the pale pink ribbon Christine had been wearing earlier left on the floor. It must've slipped off during her practice of double pirouettes, leaving her brown curls to their disorderly natural state. Quickly making a plan to retrieve the scrap of cloth, the masked man snuck down to the vacated orchestra pit, covering his silhouette with a black cape. Walking below the stage, he pushed up one of the stage trapdoors and slipped his gloved hand out to grab the ribbon. His mission was a success and he'd gone completely unnoticed, bringing a smirk onto Erik's thin lips as he made his way to the chapel where his Christine would shortly arrive for a lesson.

She was so relieved to have found her missing ribbon on the windowsill of the chapel, knowing that her angel had retrieved it for her. He didn't bother to acknowledge her thanks, though he fought off a smile while instructing the young ballerina to begin her scales. Christine tried to be more careful with her pink hair ribbon, and yet it still ended up in the hands of her teacher then eventually in the locked desk drawer. Erik didn't doubt that the drawer would become a storage space for various trinkets relating to his student.

He caught her a different evening around the same time, only now talking to a fellow friend in the corps du ballet. This girl was the blonde, slight gossip, Meg Giry who happened to be the daughter of the woman that saved him as a child. They giggled, making comments and cracking jokes about things that happened throughout the rehearsal.

"Oh Christine, your part in the chorus was wonderful! You _must_ teach me to sing like that." Meg insisted.

"I've had some lessons. And I suppose part of it was my father encouraging me to sing all the time as a child." Christine shrugged modestly.

"Lessons? Who from? And when?" The blond asked, clearly finding it difficult to hold back her curiosity.

"I don't know his name. But my father promised to send me the Angel of Music when he died, so that's what I know my teacher as."

"Do you really think your father sent him to you?"

"Perhaps. He's never given me a reason not to trust him and he's never been unkind. But if you've heard a difference from my old voice only through the one line we sing, I'm sure my teacher isn't deceiving me with his musical knowledge."

Erik overheard Christine defending him, wondering why she felt the need to do so. She wasn't gaining anything from making him sound benevolent in her friend's mind, and yet Christine deflected some of the more personal questions aimed toward the topic of her unknown instructor. Yet another smile grew across his face as he felt a slight warming feeling in his chest for the trusting young girl, the one of them who truly deserved the title of "angel".

\- - - Current time - - -

The rosy pink ribbon was tied into a neat bow and pasted into the heavy book. Its color matched that of Christine's cheeks when she blushed...or her parted lips whenever she sang for her teacher. It was impossible to deny that his fondness for the kind-hearted girl was continuously growing. The Daroga was careful to mention his suspicion of Erik's attachment to her, not wanting to anger his temperamental friend.

\- - - Several years earlier - - -

Erik was pounding the keys of his organ, only being drawn out of his music-making world by a clearing of a throat during a moment of rest. He turned around, an initial rush of anger overtaking him, then resolving himself upon seeing his Persian friend's concerned face sitting down on a nearby chair.

"What is it Daroga?" The masked man huffed exasperatedly.

"I'm simply visiting the man who refuses to live aboveground and is teaching a young girl to sing through the walls of an opera house chapel."

"And you thought it would be a good idea to intrude on my playing?"

"I'm a busy man, my friend. Have you still been bothering that Christine?"

"If you have come to insult me, Daroga, you can leave now."

"I don't mean to offend you."

"Christine's lessons haven't been terminated, if that is what you're curious about. However, she could simply refuse to come so it is in no way a bother to her."

"Some cast members did mention hearing a maturation of her voice as I was watching rehearsals the other day. Your instruction seems to be benefiting her."

"That _is_ quite the point of lessons."

Erik scribbled in a measure of music onto the paper before him.

The Daroga sighed, trying to discreetly bring up his concern for the girl.

"What do you plan for the future, Erik? Surely she isn't going to be satisfied with your vague explanation as to who you are forever."

At this, the musician turned around.

"Christine, shall she wish to dedicate herself to music, will become a Prima Donna. I will try to answer any questions she may pose, though she's very rarely been bold enough to ask anything of her teacher."

"And if she is offered to work elsewhere?"

"This is one of the most renowned opera houses in Europe. I doubt Christine will wish to leave."

"But _if she does-_ "

"Unless you wish to provoke my temper, I suggest you stop speaking, Daroga."

And with that snappy response, Erik was back at pounding at the organ and composing in his notebook. His Persian friend left him alone, shaking his head at the ever-so-short patience of the masked man. But the Daroga's wisdom caused Erik's mind to wander: what if Christine was to become more curious? Or perhaps she would travel elsewhere and leave him to his solitude?

The familiar, yet unwelcome feeling of tears welling up in his eyes made him pause his organ-playing to wipe them with a sleeve. A wild imagination had ruined his mood, turning his dramatic melody much more somber and desperate. There would only be the Daroga and the affairs of the opera house to his life, neither of which brought him as much joy as teaching his young student. It was a dark fate that his masked face had doomed him into, only allowing Erik to conceal himself in order to communicate with, even very few, other people.


	4. Chapter 4: The Iris Brooch

\- - - Current time - - -

Erik traced his thin finger over the elegant bow and continued to gaze across the memoirs in his ancient-looking book. The next article of Christine's former possession he investigated was the small, flattened brooch inside of a silk, draw-string jewelry bag. He removed it carefully, taking notice that this brooch was still missing the back pin that was supposed to fasten it. It was a simple design of gold that was dotted by pale pink gemstones in the shape of a flowering iris bloom. His dear student must've been about fifteen years of age when she misplaced it.

\- - - When Christine was fifteen - - -

"May I ask what the occasion was, my pupil?" Erik had asked Christine, seeing her dressed up in a frilled, lace gown and a pink brooch pinned beside her collarbone.

Though he knew perfectly well the affairs of the opera house, he didn't know why Christine was dolled up for the gala that was being thrown just as their lesson began.

"Meg and I were invited to the gala so we were planning on going tonight."

"And your lesson?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything, Angel. But it may be a bit more difficult for me to perform as well with this restricting corset that Meg tightened too much and this pin digging into my collarbone."

Erik could see her, suddenly noticing her more matured form and noting that she seemed to have grown up in an instant. This wasn't the sad, young girl he started instructing out of pity but was a young woman trying to find her way into where she belonged in the theatre. His throat tightened at a strange, unrecognizable feeling once his eyes lingered down to her silhouette in the aforementioned corset.

"Ahem, yes. Maybe just a shorter lesson for tonight." Erik suggested, trying to move his attention away from Christine's appearance.

"I'll take this pin off before it draws blood. Now, which scales shall I begin with?" His student questioned, bending down to set the brooch down on the windowsill, giving a slight view of her chest to her poor teacher.

He inhaled sharply, "G major, minor, and arpeggios. Then same for D."

She obeyed his instructions, feeling surprised at how permissive he seemed for the evening, and was soon on her way out to meet Meg. With the gala as a distraction, she happened to forget her brooch on the windowsill for her teacher to keep. Her teacher spent the evening watching the party from various hiding places in the ballroom, making sure that Christine was alright. He'd heard far too many stories of girls, especially the ballerinas, being taken advantage of by stagehands or wealthy patrons at such gatherings.

She spent most of her time chatting with her blonde friend, dressed in, what Erik thought to be, an unflattering orange gown. There were quite a few men who took notice of her, but only two or three that managed to dance with the young woman. Every time the men took Christine into her arms, a familiar pang of anger struck his chest. They would only be stupid distractions from her music that couldn't possibly value her the way she deserved to be. These pompous fops only wished to use the girl like a handkerchief and discard her once they had their fun. None of them were honorable.

When the night was coming to an end, Christine made her way to bed, luckily, with only Meg accompanying her. Erik, in order to maintain whatever was left of his sanity and for propriety's sake, left Christine alone until he was certain she had fallen asleep. He returned the pin, which had been tucked into one of his pockets throughout the whole time, by placing it on her nightstand and couldn't stop himself from admiring her in such proximity.

This was the first time Erik had seen her without a wall or mirror or painting between them. Her hair was even more intriguing to behold up close -each individual golden-brown strand was different- the curls framing her pale face perfectly. This was a blessing for poor Erik, who'd only been in the company of the Daroga for the past eight years, especially since his Christine now reminded him of a painted goddess. Her pink lips were parted in sleep, and her instructor felt greedy to be wishing that he could have been able to see her clear blue eyes. Erik also felt disgusted at himself for feeling this way towards anyone, particularly for his young student. He didn't believe he deserved to even feel such a desire, being the person who'd been tagged a monster several times. No longer feeling capable of restraining himself, Erik left the girl alone and went to go pound on the keyboards of his organ.


	5. Chapter 5: Irises and Lilacs

\- - - A month later - - -

The lessons became more and more demanding for Christine, her unknown teacher seeming to be growing quite curt. He stopped her at every mistake, even the tiniest of flukes in pitch, and made her restart the whole warm-up or piece. On the occasions when she would have a trouble spot, and his short temper was difficult to control, her teacher began to shout. It became difficult for Christine not to cry at some of his insults and begged for them to stop, only resulting in further scolding.

"Angel, this part is difficult for me to hold out for that long and at such a volume. Are there no exercises to help me? Your reprimands aren't helping." She pleaded.

"I am doubting your dedication, Christine. Have all these years been all for naught?!"

"Never, Angel! I'm only tired from the ballet rehearsal and not willing to be put-down once more today."

She could hear his sigh echo in the walls before he relaxed: "Sing the beginning of the aria and take a large breath before the challenging line. You must feel the expressions of each section and allow that to give you more energy to finish that note."

Christine obeyed, fearfully testing out the waters, so to speak, applying various feelings to the song as she sang. Her confidence grew as she continued the song without being stopped by her demanding instructor. The final line came, making his suggestions come to mind just as she opened her mouth to sing the last note. This time, she only cut it off briefly but the note rang out much louder than it had previously.

"That was better. Learn more of the character singing this piece and you'll find it easier to express her feelings." Her Angel commented.

"Thank you, monsieur. But I don't think I have a story of this opera, and I'd rather not raise the suspicion of others by asking for it from someone."

"I shall leave a copy on your nightstand for you to read tomorrow, as we won't have a lesson then. You likely won't finish the story by Monday, but you should still have a better idea-"

"Oh, I could definitely finish the story by then. I love to read."

"Very well, then I expect nothing but excellence on Monday. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, Angel." She bowed her head lightly, departing the small chapel and going up to her chamber.

Erik sighed, knowing he'd been a bit too strict yet again. But he felt that he had to be, his student wouldn't improve without his scolding and he might do something rash if he was being to soft with her. Ever since that night of the gala, Christine appeared to stand before him in a different light and he no longer trusted himself to be too kind to her.

Seeing her lips turn up the slightest bit into a smile made his chest tighten. If Erik had such a massive reaction to a tiny action, then there was no doubt that he wouldn't be able to handle something bigger. He needed to distance himself from the girl a bit. The only way he knew to do so was to be slightly unkind to the wonderful girl. He told the Daroga of his dilemma, feeling so bad for her having to deal with his awful temper.

"You shouldn't take your frustration out on the poor girl! Especially since you aim to make yourself likeable to her, not frighten her away." The Persian pointed out.

"I am well aware. But what would _you_ suggest doing in my position, oh wise one?" Erik snapped.

"Don't you remember what I told you all that time ago? I advised you to stay away from her completely."

"And take away the one hope she had of her passed father?"

"Life is full of difficult decisions, my friend. As for the present, you must treat her nicely and not lose control. Of your temper and of your self-control."

"As if I don't know of difficulties?! My entire life has consisted of difficult people, difficult situations, and difficult places. I have plenty of self-control and I deserve to be allotted incontinence of my short patience."

"Perhaps. But the girl doesn't know a thing about you. In fact, she only knows for certain that you are _not_ an angel."

"That's enough. I'm not revealing my identity to Christine, Daroga."

"Very well, but I've advised you as best as I am able. Please just don't do anything extreme." The Persian said just before leaving his musical friend alone in his lair.

Erik sighed, knowing the older man was correct but not willing to admit it. It would be quite late if he left now, but the masked man wasn't going to go anywhere in the daylight of tomorrow. He would attempt to apologize for his behavior in some way, and he couldn't possibly wait until their next lesson to do so.

\- - - The next morning - - -

The curly-haired brunette woke up after a good night's rest, feeling glad to only have rehearsals in the afternoon instead of practically all day. Stretching and yawning in the sunlight streaming in through her window, Christine noticed the presence of a few new objects residing on her nightstand. She remembered her instructor said he would leave a book for her, although there were two things beside it. One was a small bouquet of lilacs and irises while the other was a handwritten note. Her blue eyes immediately flicked to the bottom of the page, noticing that this was indeed from her strict teacher.

The note read:

 _Christine-  
I must apologize for my recent harsh behavior during the lessons- I only wish for you to excel and not to inflate your perception of your gift. Your skills have truly improved several times over throughout the years and they will continue to do so if you still dedicate yourself. My hope, with this note, is for you to pardon me as well as to enjoy the book and flowers. Though I am no sentimental soul, the latter carry some symbolism: white lilacs for innocence and the irises for faith (though they are meant to symbolize the connection between heaven and earth, being named after the rainbow goddess).  
Excuse me once again,  
Your Angel_

The young girl felt flattered, taking the flowers in-hand and searching for a glass of water to place them into. She would begin reading his book after breakfast, trying to get through as much of it as possible before the ballet rehearsals would begin for Handel's _Farramondo_. The theatre had lost a few of its top performers, leaving them to stage a smaller-cast opera rather than a large production. The Populaire's director seemed peeved at the loss of cast members, saying something about an important man being unhappy with their lack of talent.

Unable to find a glass of water nearby, Christine found a few blank pages of her teacher's book and arranged the flowers carefully inside before pushing the cover down. Hopefully the Angel wouldn't mind them pressed and preserved into the book he'd lent her, as she had no other way of keeping them in decent condition.

Soon, she heard Meg coming across the hall towards her doorway and Christine stashed the items from her teacher in order not to raise questions in her talkative friend. The two friends greeted each other and went downstairs for breakfast, chatting a bit before heading back to prepare for the practice they'd soon have with Meg's mother. Christine took the time to read and decided to change clothes only at the last minute prior to heading onstage.


	6. Chapter 6: Charcoal Sketches

Erik's book was returned to him in the chapel after his Monday night lesson with Christine, who had profusely apologized that she attempted to dry the flowers he'd gifted her in the book. Her Angel remarked that, as the pages she used were blank, it was of no matter to him and that he was rather glad she preserved them. Her expressions in the piece greatly improved since before the weekend, mostly from a better understanding of the persona Christine was meant to portray.

Every night, after their lesson, the instructor would either work on his _Don Juan Triumpant_ , that was partly being written for Christine when the time came, or create elaborate sketches with charcoal. Many of these drawings were of his blossoming student in character for his opera or in various activities during her daily life.

The face was the easiest- round eyes that gleamed with innocence and joviality, soft lips, arched brows, a perfectly curved nose, small chin, and elongated eyelashes that seemed to flutter like the wings of a butterfly every time she blinked. She seemed to be the true angel by appearance. Next, Erik would take careful measures in illustrating each curl of her hair to be as unique as they were in reality: every one twisting in its own way. Most of the sketches of Christine at this age were just to the end of her slender neck, due to the reclusive man's feeling of breaking propriety for attempting to draw the rest of her body. But there were a few instances where Erik couldn't help himself, or felt necessity in doing so- namely in the process of creating costume ideas for his _Don Juan_.

As always, each of these creations were tucked away in his locked desk drawer to keep them from the prying eyes of the Daroga. The Persian made less visits down, knowing that he had no power over his masked friend to stop the lessons after they'd continued over the previous eight years or so. Now, he only warned against meeting the girl along with anything further than instructing her voice, to which Erik laughed haughtily at. To him, any kind of further interaction with people was unthinkable. Especially, as this young girl was so wonderous, Erik couldn't bear to frighten her or lose their strange connection.

Instead, he would recline in a leather armchair and the solitude of his underground home to look through the drawings he deemed to be fairly decent. Firstly, Christine was in a crowd of faceless ballerinas dressed to portray an ensemble of cherubs in their white tulle skirts and little, feathered angel wings. The only identifiable girl was his student, looking heavenly under a glowing stage light fixed on her in the sketch. Her gaze was fixed outwards at the empty seats of the rehearsal, hope glistening in her doe eyes.

The following image showed what Erik imagined to be what his student would look like by the time she would be prepared to take on the role he created for her. His _Don Juan_ heroine was to be a young barmaid that shone with virtue in her soul amidst the dark setting she was forced to live in. Her dress was to be an almost-translucent fabric on the bottom, accentuated at her slim dancer's waist, and the sleeves were to be placed off the shoulder. On the sides of the sketch, Erik had scribbled down some notes of colors or materials he thought of using, but that decision was not necessary to make for a few more years.

Only once had the Daroga caught Erik using his charcoal for such endeavors, scolding him fiercely upon seeing the unfinished face of a curly-haired girl who seemed to be parting her lips in song.

"Please tell me that this is not your impressionable student, or at least that this is the only drawing you've done of her." The Persian pleaded, rubbing his forehead to ease the tension that formed upon his brow.

"You needn't bother asking me to respond to that, for you clearly already have a preconception of what I would say." Erik stated calmly, throwing his paper with the incomplete sketch into the misty lake just outside his home.

"Oh, you incorrigible man! Knowing your temper, progressing any relationship with the poor girl will be disastrous."

"In what way? She has been perfectly cooperative to our lessons every night."

"I am sure your student will soon have a line of suitors vying for her attentions, even more so if her voice is discovered and used in a production. You will completely object, hiding your jealousies behind the excuse of her mind drifting away from music."

Erik knew, deep down, his Persian friend was correct. But he wouldn't let him win the argument.

"Music was the initial focus of this and it shall be so until the end."

"I only hope that your claim remains true for the long-term, it would be best for the girl if you truly cared for her."

"Even if I did, you know that I am quite selfish Daroga, and wouldn't heed to your orders. Luckily, I do not. Or, at least, not in the perverse way you have concocted in your imbecilic brain."

No longer desiring to hear Erik's teasing abuses, the Persian bid him goodnight and left the underground cavern shaking his head. This strange man would forever pester his worrying, and very caring, heart until the end of his days. However, he loved the company of the artistic genius at times as well as attempting to advise him to no avail. It filled the emptiness caused by the loss of his late wife and child, directing all of his instinct of parental guidance towards his, quite childish, friend. He only wished for the masked man to find happiness without taking it from someone else or destroying something.


	7. Chapter 7: La Carlotta

\- - - Current time - - -

The next article happened to be a letter, not written by Christine nor Erik, but the diva who'd arrived at the time and was hired by the manager, as he didn't have many other options for his casting. The previous leading lady had resigned to take care of her family, something about an ill relative and her own, fourth, pregnancy. Unfortunately, her resignation took place only 3 weeks before a show and left the manager of the time to accept whoever was available to take her place. This woman happened to be a self-absorbed prima donna going by the name "La Carlotta" and demanded no understudy.

This letter had been written by Carlotta, a few members of the cast receiving them after a week of her hiring- which included Christine. Though she was vain and quite confident in her overly-emphatic voice, the woman was no idiot. Her letters were only sent to individuals in smaller roles or in the chorus with proficient singing voices that she didn't want to compete against.

\- - - Back when Christine was 18 - - -

Upon finding a note in her ballet slipper box after rehearsals, Christine arrived to her lesson with Erik all teary-eyed. Though she had yet to shed a tear before him, her blue eyes were completely glazed over. Physically monstrous as he was, Erik was still as kind-hearted as a loyal puppy to his student and demanded that she explain what the cause of her sorrow was.

"It's this note I found after practice, it shouldn't bother me so much. I'm not a child anymore but I can't seem to help it." She blubbered, trying to maintain a straight face.

"Nonsense, if it bothers you so then it must be awful. Leave it here upon the windowsill after we finish if you do not wish to explain it to me yourself."

"That new soprano left it for me. I wouldn't dare call anyone terrible, not unless I knew them like the back of my hand, but she has come the closest to making me want to call her such a thing."

"New soprano? Then I must hear of this, perhaps I can do something to make the manager reconsider his foolish decision to accept whoever was available first for the position."

"I couldn't possibly read all of it- the note is kind of long and she has included some...unsavory language."

"Well let's not prolong this delay in our lesson, and rest assured that I will read this note then take care of everything for you."

"Alright, Angel. I must apologize for being so childish over some painful words coming from someone who has yet to know me beyond my name."

The lesson continued smoothly, Erik not wanting to further hurt the poor eighteen-year old girl that was apparently maltreated by some egotistical woman. He dismissed her a bit earlier too, anxious to see what this letter could possibly contain. Christine obediently left it on the windowsill and scurried away, likely to cheer herself up by having a lively conversation with Meg Giry.

As soon as his pianist's hands grasped the note, the masked man hurried back to his lamp-lit home in the opera's cellars in order to read it. His eagerness even led him to begin reading whilst still standing on his gondola, propping himself up against the paddle which was stuck between a few scraggly rocks at the bottom of the underground lake. Its contents were quite the shock.

Though the elegant handwriting was delicate, the language most certainly was not. It was clearly written in jealousy or underlying insecurity as La Carlotta's mild threats towards Christine were all in the direction of preventing her from singing. Even if his student wasn't the only cast member to receive such an awful note, Erik had gathered quite an appalling first impression of the new diva and was ready to direct his ghostly tricks towards her. Especially after seeing at least three incredibly disrespectful names she called the kind brunette ballerina.

The musician was so wrapped up in his angry thoughts towards the conceited woman that he didn't notice the Daroga, who'd arrived for a check-in with his eccentric friend.

"I knocked, but you didn't seem to hear. Surprising though, since you aren't banging on that poor organ." The Persian announced himself.

"I would apologize for my lack of propriety, but it's merely you."

"What is so distressing that your ability to hear is lacking?"

"If you must know, it is this note."

"Is it some amorous note you've composed for your student? If so, I will throw it into the fireplace."

"Not at all! How dare you think me so brash and emotional? It is a note Christine received from the diva just hired to fill the role of the opera's heroine."

"I do not understand why _you_ would be troubled."

"Read the damned thing!" Erik shouted, thrusting the letter into the Persian's hands.

The older man's hazel eyes scanned over the document, occasionally widening at some of the rude words and grimacing in imagination of what his irrational friend may do in response. Once finished, he folded the note back down and handed it to Erik.

"Well?" The masked man questioned.

"This woman is audacious in making such comments about someone she barely knows."

"My sentiments exactly, only much less amiable."

"Do not set your full wrath upon this woman, she only wishes to be secure in her position and you cannot make a wanted criminal of yourself."

"Ha! What do you suggest I do? Allow this serpent of a female to prey upon my benevolent student?"

"No, but I ask you not to injure this Carlotta nor do anything worse."

"We'll see about that..."

\- - - Current time - - -

And two years had passed, La Carlotta still being the reigning diva of the Opera Populaire just as they began to work on their production of Chalumeau's Hannibal. Christine was still a chorus girl and talented ballerina, but Erik knew she would soon achieve a larger role- perhaps in the next show. This had only remained so due to the Daroga's frequent visits to make sure his masked friend wasn't planning to hurt the woman.

In the business aspect, Erik was aware that the obedient director who was currently in charge of the opera was retiring and two new men would arrive to take over the position. Unfortunately, there was a possibility they wouldn't be as easy-going as the current director. But no matter, they'd shortly introduced to the Opera Ghost that _actually_ managed all of the theatre business.

The letter from La Carlotta was still a bit painful to see even now. Christine refused to ever look at it again and her tutor locked it up in the desk drawer to remind him of what this diva was capable of even just at the beginning of her vile demeanor. It was no longer a threatening document but a laughingstock once Erik saw his Christine becoming the top-billed soprano of the theatre.


	8. Chapter 8: Birthday

The production for Hannibal had been set back, so the manager decided to put on a less-complicated show. His new diva proved to be harder to handle than before, the rehearsal time being spent almost entirely on calming the woman who claimed someone was talking over her singing or making mistakes in the blocking. The "Opera Ghost" was also apparently upset with La Carlotta.

Letters secured by a skeletal, red wax seal were dropped from the rafters during one of the few silent moments during a practice. Several of these notes were aimed to the manager to amiably command him to rid of La Carlotta, she was only slowing production time and irritating, if not bluntly insulting, the other cast members.

In addition to these letters, the Opera's phantom was causing trouble in hopes to...encourage the manager to hasten in following his instructions, mostly with the firing of La Carlotta. Christine undoubtedly knew that this mysterious, havoc-wreaking ghost was her vocal instructor. She only hoped that he wasn't acting on her account with the diva, especially since he clearly spent a lot of time dedicated to giving the manager a piece of his mind in the regard of Carlotta. But over a year had passed without any changes in the position of leading soprano.

"That red-haired brat pushed Violette out of her way when _she_ was clearly standing in the wrong position! Then she accused _maman_ of stepping on her dress when she walked by, the audacity of that woman!" Meg shouted under her breath in the dressing rooms just after finishing the first rehearsal for Hannibal, which was finally returning to the Populaire.

Christine mused at her friend's frustration, pulling the ballet slippers off of her sore feet and massaging them for a moment.

"Quiet Meg, she might hear you!" The brunette warned.

"The croaking toad couldn't possibly hear me over the sound of her self-obsessed, constantly-babbling voice." The blonde assured Christine, "And why do you refuse to celebrate your birthday? We should go have fun with some of the other chorus girls who go out to _soirees_!"

"Oh, Meg, I have no interest in such dealings! They always come back in the late mornings, half-undressed, and their rouge smudged all over their faces."

Once the girls were changed out of their costumes, Meg went to go console Violette over the aforementioned incident while Christine descended to the small chapel for her vocal lesson. With such a trying daytime schedule, the girl looked forward to meeting with her, still unknown, instructor.

"Angel?" She asked, closing the door behind her.

The voice of her teacher echoed from the angel statue in the corner: "Christine."

Her blue eyes widened in amazement and she couldn't formulate a response, "How- wh-?"

"Ventriloquism, Mademoiselle Daae." He responded, his slightly smug tone suggesting he was smirking.

"It's quite impressive, _monsieur_." She smiled.

"Thank you, dear girl. Now, on with your scales, we must prepare you to overtake that prima donna even though I have no doubt you will be able to do so."

"She was terrible to Madame Giry _and_ to the kindest ballerina today! I can't believe she's still a cast member. Meg called her a croaking toad!"

"Her tone is quiet similar to a toad at times." He chuckled, a rare occasion, and prompted Christine to continue with her lesson.

The instructor particularly pressed his doting student to perfect the new aria she was given to learn from _Romeo et Juliette_. He additionally assured that she would soon be on stage, as a lead singer, not a faceless ballerina. Christine pleaded that nothing would hurt La Carlotta, even after all of her antics, and she would only be excused from her position.

"Your heart is too compassionate, Christine." Her teacher remarked.

"I wish no harm to anyone who doesn't deserve it. Besides, it's more fitting for La Carlotta to be humiliated than any injury or death." The girl reasoned.

"Ah, the true angel shows herself. I dismiss you, and wish _you_ a delightful birthday, though you don't seem to enjoy celebrating such an event."

"Thank you, and I don't appreciate the attention caused by it. When is your birthday, Angel? I hate the thought that I must've missed it over all of these years."

"Though I am no angel, I have no birthdate. Or at least, it is not known to me."

"We must make one up for you then!"

"No need for such a foolish celebration that no one marks."

"Nonsense, I would mark your birthday every year."

"Perhaps one day..." He muttered with a wishful tone slipping into his voice.

But the man cleared his throat and continued confidently: "I have left you a gift in your quarters, hate your birthday as you may. Goodnight, Christine."

"There was no need, as always, my Angel. Thank you for everything and goodnight!" She told him, not knowing if he was still listening to her.

Her innocent smile and the grateful look in her eyes softened Erik's heart, melting whatever had remained of his hardened soul. The Daroga even took notice of his easing temper and felt in debt of the girl who caused this change in him. Erik was only excited at any mention of a future prospect with his, now 18-year old, student and at his plan to have her play an unforgettable Juliette for the Populaire within the next year.

Christine hurried up to her bed, undeniably eager to see what her instructor had given her. Any gifts from him, no matter how unnecessary she told him they were, happened to be positively divine. This time, there was a simple hatbox-sized box wrapped in a white ribbon placed on her bed. Her delicate fingers untied it, pulling the lid off of the top and inspecting its contents with curiosity.

Inside where the most exquisite sets of jewelry: a diamond necklace with stones arranged to appear as snowflakes paired with matching earrings, multiple styles of rings with deep blue sapphires framed by crystals, and various pieces dotted with pink garnets. This gift must've cost her instructor a fortune, Christine nearly fainting at the sheer number of accessories and jewels within them. The brunette picked up one of the simplest sapphire rings and strung it through the silver necklace chain from her father that she always wore. Her teacher was too kind to her, seeming much more like a fond friend than distant tutor.


	9. Chapter 9: Discovery

"Erik! You must be out of your mind! Completely mad!" The Daroga scolded.

"To give my only companion a birthday gift was wrong?" Erik questioned sarcastically, writing down a note at the bottom of some Handel music he was editing.

"No, and you know that isn't exactly what I am referring to. Your gift was quite extravagant and you, quite obviously, are responsible for the plunder of their most recent diva."

"Me? However did you get that idea?"

"You despised the woman ever since she bothered Christine, and you never really enjoyed her singing voice either. Additionally, your Opera Ghost persona is infamous for trouble-making about the theatre."

Erik tsked, "Oh Daroga, you shouldn't listen to the gossip of ballet girls."

"I overheard the _director_ saying he was anxious for the newer directors that will be taking over, as they will be missing a leading soprano."

"Missing a leading soprano? This man must be deaf as a doornail- my Christine is very prepared to take over such a position."

"My point with this discussion is to tell you, once more, to be careful with the girl. Allow her to live her own life, do not abduct her nor interfere beyond the girl's careers."

"Mindless chatter, Daroga, much too common in your company. I do not wish for my student to encounter the horror of my appearance, I highly doubt our story would end in the same way of _La Belle et La Bete_."

"I only ask you not to force her into remaining beside you if you ever do reveal yourself to her."

The Persian soon left Erik in his solitude, but this time resulted in the musician's mind wandering. What if he did allow Christine to see him? Surely she would respect the privacy of his mask, even through the intrigue of finally seeing her teacher after all of their lessons. He had desired to meet her- finally straighten her posture with his hands instead of a commanding voice, hold her hand, allow her to know that he wasn't an angel but a man. Oh how his heart longed to come out from the shadows and greet her properly. He would have to plan for the most opportune moment.

She was now nineteen and her voice was mature enough for the stage. Erik knew her time to capture the audience's attention was coming up quickly and he would hasten the process by completely ridding of La Carlotta, perhaps using his student's ideas. He also liked her and Meg's likening her to a toad, possibly being a way to cause the diva's humiliation.

Once she was gone, Christine would take over the stage and be the best soprano the Populaire had ever encountered. Erik would see his work put to use, giving the world something they didn't deserve after how he'd been treated all his life: the gift of Christine's angelic voice. Her perfect, though untamable, curly hair, forget-me-not eyes, kind heart, soft pink lips, joyous demeanor, smooth ivory skin, fluttering eyelashes, and charming smile would make her an unforgettable star. Erik would pride himself upon her.

And so, once a scene-shifter stepped away from his post, a massive scene from _Romeo et Juliette_ was dropped onto the diva when she was attempting to show off her "skills" to the new directors. Erik's excellent perception also allowed him a glimpse at the vacant expressions of the two men expected to run his theatre from now on. From a quick assessment: the taller of them was obviously attempting to seem wealthy, clearly focused on monetary gain from the theatre, and quite interested in the almost scantily dressed _corps du ballet_ girls while the shorter man was more faint-hearted, easily showing whatever emotions he felt. The latter would be much easier to frighten.

"That's it! I am _really_ leaving this time!" The diva screamed once she was helped up.

The orchestra conductor sighed, placing a hand on his heaving chest.

"Oh _signora,_ please understand this was a simple Buquet stepped away from his post and the rope must have slipped." The shorter man tried to appeal to the woman.

"Too many mistakes! It is almost _every_ rehearsal that something happens to me and I am exhausted from it! _Tutti mi odiano!_ " Carlotta shouted, marching to collect her things from the dressing room.

"But who shall sing in the performance tonight?! We can't refund a full audience!" The taller man stated, completely aghast at Carlotta's leaving.

Madame Giry, the ballet mistress, stepped away from her girls and chimed in: "Christine Daae could sing in her place, monsieur."

"A chorus girl?" He responded.

Christine looked surprised, she wasn't expecting such a thing to happen at all and, much more, today. Of course she knew the aria after hearing it every day at rehearsals as well as through practice at her lessons. This connection between the recent events and her teacher suggested he was the one behind it all. But La Carlotta seemed to have been sensitive to this provocation- it wasn't nearly as bad as Christine imagined.

"She has been well-taught. Only listen to her sing! If it doesn't satisfy you, she will still be in the ballet and you can continue your search." Madame Giry offered.

Having nothing but time to lose, the directors asked the conductor to lead the orchestra into the beginning of the arietta. Christine was pushed to the front of the stage and she nervously started the song, slowly gaining confidence with each word.

 _Ah!–_  
 _Je veux vivre_  
 _Dans le rêve qui m'enivre;_  
 _Ce jour encor,_  
 _Douce flamme,_  
 _Je te garde dans mon âme_  
 _Comme un trésor!_

By the end of the piece, Christine heard nothing but a deafening silence shrouded over the whole cast gathered on the stage behind her. Erik couldn't resist but stay nearby and listen to the angelic voice he sculpted for his dear student, feeling shivers run down his spine with her vivacious tone at eachcrescendo'ed line.

The moment ended with the applause of everyone in the theatre echoing loudly in the vast space. Christine turned around, a doe-like expression over her delicate face and smiled gently at their generous reaction. Meg congratulated her dear friend, completely over-joyed. The directors announced that she would replace Carlotta as, a much more believable, Juliette in the show. The Opera's ghost knew his prudent pupil would shine in the spotlight and, practically fittingly, she would be playing an innocent young girl hopelessly in love.


	10. Chapter 10: Romeo et Juliette

\- - - Current time - - -

The next article of nostalgia in this seemingly-ancient book was a small poster from Christine's debut at the Populaire. It was an unforgettable performance, the best the opera house had ever seen and ever would. Erik remembered meeting her two hours before the show began for a lesson, her voice more immaculate in singing each piece as ever before. His breath grew ragged at the passion in his student's tone and he watched her smile proudly upon finishing without his intrusion.

Each of the posters from the show were imprinted images of a painted Christine in white alongside the young man playing Romeo. A few other characters surrounded the pair but the focal point remained to be the brunette soprano with gleaming eyes.

\- - - The night of _Romeo et Juliette_ \- - -

"I only hope not to faint before the audience's critiquing eyes." The young girl chuckled.

"The worst critic you could endure is myself, and you haven't fainted yet." Her tutor reassured.

"Well I must thank you for the several years of instruction. It's as though my father's intentions have come true and he sent me an angel, just as promised."

"I am no angel-"

"You've told me this several times over. When can I finally learn who you truly are _Ange_?"

The room chilled significantly with the change in conversation.

The instructor spoke after a few thoughtful moments: "Soon, after tonight's performance."

Christine thanked him once more before joining Madame Giry in her new dressing room. It was a proud moment for her adoptive mother who'd raised her since the death of Gustave Daae. She wished the young girl luck after fastening the last crystal hairpiece into her curls and briefly grinning nostalgically. Christine had a few minutes to study her reflection in the gilded mirror before joining the cast on stage.

This was a youthful woman, familiar but yet different from the one always seen meekly amongst the crowd of ballerinas. She was transformed into Juliette: a simple Renaissance gown, thin layer of pink blush over her cheeks, ancient silver jewelry adorning her neck, loose brown curls concealed beneath a sheer veil, tiny crystals pinned into her hair, and plain slippers over her feet. The curtain was called, parting for the audience to see the show begin.

She started the entire opera expressing her joy at being at a delightful soiree:

 _Écoutez! écoutez!_  
 _C'est le son des instruments joyeux_  
 _Qui nous appelle et nous convie!_  
 _Ah! –_  
 _Tout un monde enchanté semble naître_  
 _à mes yeux!_

It wasn't long before Romeo appeared as the center of attention, feeling sorrowful over the loss of his Rosaline until seeing Juliette. The lovers met and innocently started their affair, paying no mind to their feuding families. But their airy smiles and shining eyes were quickly replaced with despairing expressions as the scenes progressed. The pair was torn apart, leaving Juliette to fake her death and Romeo to discover her unconscious body, thinking she'd truly died.

Once she awoke, the young girl peered over the body of her lover and realized that he stabbed himself in believing her dead. Tears glazed over her eyes, her hands grasped Romeo's dagger. His arms limply wrapped around Juliette, disappointed in their circumstances as she sang to him.

 _Va! Ce moment est doux!_

Her shaking hands dropped the dagger upon impaling her chest with it, the (fake) blood staining her white gown and her breaths shallowing with each inhale.

 _Ô joie infinie et suprême_  
 _De mourir avec toi! Viens! un baiser!_  
 _Je t'aime!_

The soprano uttered her last words of devotion before being joined by her lover's whispering voice in their apology for committing suicide:

 _Seigneur, Seigneur, pardonnez-nous!_

And with these words, the lovers died in each other's arms. The heavy red curtains were drawn, the thundering sound of applause taking over the previous silence. Christine stood up with the help of her Romeo's strong arms and faced the crowd confidently with the rest of the cast behind them. Everyone took a deep bow as roses were thrown on-stage for the leading performers. The new soprano felt honored, joyful tears forming in the corners of her blue eyes.

But this moment ended quickly. She hastily went back to the dressing room, removing the dozens of hairpieces pinned into her curls. The commotion outside of her room wasn't as welcoming as being inside the safety of her room with Madame Giry congratulating her. The ballet mistress pointed out a single rose with a black silk ribbon tied around the thorny stem laying beside the mirror. Christine admired the gesture, suspecting her instructor was the giver of this gift.

A knock sounded upon her door, followed by a young man entering the room: "Hello there, Little Lotte. It's been a while, has it not?"

"Raoul? This is a pleasant surprise-" The soprano smiled in greeting.

"You have certainly followed in your father's footsteps."

"He promised to send me the Angel of Music upon the event of his death. Father passed away years ago and I have been instructed by such a tutor."

"No doubt of it, you're likely the best soprano of the Populaire. My brother and I are patrons to this theatre for several years now."

"Thank you."

"Join me for dinner tonight, we must celebrate your success!"

"I cannot, the Angel is very strict. I must only focus on my music." Christine insisted, though Raoul only laughed.

He warned her to be prepared to leave in twenty minutes, even through the girl's protests. The room was empty once more, and Christine decided to change into a nightgown rather than an evening gown; she was much too exhausted for a night out with an old friend. But as she was fastening the last ribbon over her waist, the candles all extinguished themselves from a phantom breeze.

A deep, familiar voice intimidated Christine momentarily until she recognized the rich tenor singing to her. It was the angel, singing to her about keeping her priorities on music rather than the foolish boy who impudently entered the dressing room mere moments earlier. Christine was entranced at hearing his voice independently, drawing nearer to what seemed to be its source- the mirror. The glass surface slid away to reveal a skeletal man standing tall with a stoic expression and a ivory-colored mask over half of his face. This was the man she called her angel.


	11. Chapter 11: The Meeting

There was no sweet memento to remind Erik of their first proper meeting, it was an unforgettable occurrence on its own. His Christine was wholly entranced the entire time as soon as she saw his ghostly figure from behind the mirror and accepted his outstretched, gloved hand. Through the dank, candelabra-lit passageway, Erik could feel her curious stare fixed on him as he continued to sing to her, occasionally turning his head to see Christine's countenance.

In order to reach his hidden lair, Erik first propped his student up onto the white theatre horse Caesar until they reached the underground lake, pausing to get inside the gothic gondola perched upon the bank. In an almost instinctual way, Christine's voice rose to form a duet with the tenor of her teacher as they floated across the lake. Candles were set all along the way, blooming flowers perched from several crevices or were drifting in the water, the rough stoned walls created an echo from their singing. It was like entering a fantasy world with the gateway being Christine's mirror.

Finally reaching their destination, the teacher assisted his student out of the boat and welcomed her to the lair.

She sleepily smiled, "I am glad to have finally met you, Angel."

"As am I, dear girl. This is where I create my music, write those silly letters to the managers, plan various designs for shows, and reside. You can see my model of the stage here, with you standing in the center as the affectionate Juliette in her pure white gown."

"It is stunning." She yawned, slightly embarrassed that she'd done so.

"You must be tired after such a debut, perhaps you should retire to bed..." He suggested.

"Oh no, I've only just come down here-"

"Precisely why I will show you to a room in this home."

"Thank you kindly, monsieur." She sighed, "I sang for you tonight, pouring out my soul with every note...and now I am dead."

He chuckled, "You sung for the heavens and I am truly grateful that you thought of me."

Down the short hallway, Erik opened the only door it led to and showed Christine to the room. His arms were circled over her slight shoulders, seeing that her body was leaning over to once side or another from exhaustion.

"This shall be your bedroom, Christine."

The bedframe was made of thick pewter and formed into the shape of a dove. Plush, red sheets and blankets were tucked over the center of the bed, covering the puffy feather pillows. At this point, his student was practically being carried by his strong arms and he gently placed her among the blankets, her curl-framed head lying softly upon a white, silk pillowcase.

Erik felt guilty admiring Christine in her sleep, finally having seen her face-to-face after several years. Self-doubt crept into his mind though. It was a relief that she hadn't screamed or attempted to pull off the mask, but he presumed that this was due to her sluggish state. To distract his fearful mind, Erik composed through the duration of the night on the piano while his student rested.

* * *

The young new diva fluttered her eyes open hours later, unsure of what time it was and where exactly she lay. This was clearly not the simple cast dormitory, and the girl soon remembered her teacher revealing himself that night from behind the dressing room mirror. Everything here was rustic, yet lavish in its own fashion. Christine studied the detailed carving of feathers on her bedframe and the multitude of leather-bound books in the room. In the distance, she heard the echo of a pipe organ.

Intrigue guided Christine down the hallway, her well-trained ears following the unfamiliar melody. It was dark, melancholy, and reminiscent but there was an occasional touch of brightness leading to a building pattern of shimmering trills that resolved into a soft, airy stillness. With each step, the young girl noticed little details of her instructor's home: sheet music lying all over the place, gothic furniture, somber colors, exquisite décor pieces, more of the blooming flowers, hundreds of candles, and books of varying subjects or languages.

"Hello Christine." The comforting voice of her tutor greeted, halting the music he was creating with his hands on the organ.

"Hello. What may I call you? Other than Angel, of course." Christine questioned, suddenly aware that she didn't know his name.

"I suppose all must be revealed now." He sighed, "I am Erik."

She tested the name: "Erik. I believe it is quite fitting to you. What were you playing?"

"An old composition from about ten years ago. It needs some improvement..." the musician's voice quieted as he tested some of the notes on the keyboard.

The brunette was at his side, peering over to the top of the instrument to see his music. Her mind was burning with questions, most prominently towards Erik's face. Unknowingly, she reached her hands up discreetly towards the masked side and watched, entranced by the sight of him, as she pulled off his porcelain mask.

This was when everything stopped- the music, the entrancement, the stillness, and both of their heartbeats.

"Damn you! How dare you act upon such vicious, meddlesome desires! What a prying Pandora we have here, too eager to stop herself!" Erik shouted in a monstrous tone Christine hadn't heard before.

She was shoved to the ground, Erik fearing that she would no longer wish to be his pupil after seeing the distortion of his face. But the girl barely had half a second to even see anything, only noticing that the usually covered half wasn't identical to the other. Perhaps there was some frailer skin beside his red cheek and his amber eye seemed more sunken-in, but she didn't understand his outburst. His raised voice and maniacal behavior struck fear into her heart, causing tears to well up in her blue eyes.

"See! You cry at the sight of your Erik for his true appearance. He is not the angel you dreamt of, but a corpse! And this is merely Erik's face!" He exclaimed, a frightening grin stretching over his thin mouth.

He didn't face her, likely from a shred of hope believing that she truly hadn't seen enough of his ugliness to make her run away. Through his self-deprecating thoughts, this seemed highly improbable but it did happen to be the truth of the situation. Christine still only saw his normal side, dimly illuminated by the light of candles.

"Please, _Ange_! Do not be angry with me, I didn't mean to take off the mask!"

"Then what _was_ your intention?!" He snarled, facing a covered mirror.

"My hands were not being controlled by my mind, I did not wish to remove it without your consent. I did not even see anything, for you have turned away so quickly!" She explained, trying to stop the wavering in her voice.

His head hung lowly, staring down upon the ground as if wondering whether to believe her or not. Surely, had she seen such a horror, innocent little Christine would've jumped into the lake to get away from him. Yes, this must've been the case for the girl was still standing fearfully with his object in her small hands. A deafening cloud of silence cloaked the atmosphere, Christine being too afraid of overstepping her boundaries again.

"Give me back my mask." He uttered finally.


	12. Chapter 12: The Morning After

\- - - Still when Christine meets Erik - - -

"I'm truly very sorry, E-Erik." Christine said, her eyes apologetically staring at her teacher like those of a misbehaving puppy.

His anger subsided a bit at her expression. Taking the mask into his own hands, he turned away from her and placed it back on.

"I think it would be wise to return you back to your dressing room. That is, if you even dare to seek your corpse of a tutor once more." He told her, a tone of disappointment sneaking into his voice.

The girl nodded gently, following behind him into the gondola. Being too afraid to even make a peep, Christine silently observed her surroundings as though she was trying to memorize them for future reference. There was no doubt that she would still need her teacher, after all the Populaire just witnessed her first show of talent and Christine would be lost without him.

The glow of the candles reflected softly in her eyes and Erik took notice of the sad, regretful look in them. Her hands reached into the cold water to caress the flowers floating upon its surface with her fingers, seemingly to distract a troubled mind. _But why should she be troubled? Frightened and repulsed, yes, but not concerned in this matter._ Erik couldn't understand this strange girl.

 _Christine isn't strange, just different from the rest of the cast. Her very soul is entwined with the music as she performs; no_ grand jetes _nor_ pirouette _sequences are needed to leave her breathless and drained after a show. The lack of fear towards my appearance may be from her dark experiences in childhood, though they obviously pale in comparison to mine. Even now, she stares at every inch of my home as though saving it for her recollection to admire later. Shall she return to the chapel, I will bring her back here with more joy I've ever felt in my lifetime._

The boat scraped into the side of the stone flooring, which lead to the grand staircase and labyrinth of hallways. These were the Phantom's passageways, each one leading out towards a hidden post from which the Opera Ghost would wreak havoc over the theatre. But Erik sought only to leave Christine in her dressing room, his heavy heart fearing the worst- that she would never return to her teacher.

At the top of the staircase, Christine finally broke the silence.

"Erik, why do you have a path into my dressing room?"

He sighed a breath of relief that she wasn't fixed upon the subject of his deathly visage.

"Because it used to be where all of the spare sheet music was, so I would take it and re-write pieces to my own taste. A select few of the most recent works from there have provided a skeleton for my _Don Juan_."

"You don't use it to peek at whoever is in the room?"

"I _do_ have a sense of propriety." He chuckled.

"May I see your _Don Juan_?"

"Not now, it isn't finished. Even after thirteen years it remains incomplete. You see, I only compose when I get a strike of inspiration- and then I write for days on end without stopping to rest. Otherwise, the music lies on top of the organ untouched. But it is not the joyful, airy music you are accustomed to, Christine. My opera burns itself into the actors, unwinding any emotions from within and restraining nothing. It is dark and only to be performed exactly as instructed, otherwise it appears grotesque and foreign to the audience."

"It sounds dreadfully interesting. What is it about?"

"You shall find out relatively soon, for the lead soprano part has been written solely for you. No one else will ever perform it correctly as they lack the nuances and exact capabilities of your voice."

"I am honored." She smiled, standing just behind the two-sided mirror of her dressing room.

"Well, this is where the journey ends. If you wish to continue our lessons, I shall receive you here or in the chapel and please refrain from interacting with that fop of a vicomte." Erik playfully scolded, shutting the mirror behind Christine as soon as she went through.

\- - - Current time - - -

As that day progressed, Christine tirelessly worked with both ballerinas and with M. Reyer, the conductor. The new managers didn't seem to know what to do with her, for she was sensational as both a dancer and singer, along with the fact that they hadn't decided what their next show would be. Erik watched her on the stage. In his mind, he cursed out the managers for being such idiots with no real enthusiasm for the art they were meant to present. But he'd brought charcoals with him.

Even in the darkness he managed to create several pieces of his Christine. Perhaps it was fear that she wouldn't return to him that drove Erik to sketch with such a passion. In this book, there were several pressed between pages so as not to smudge the forms smudged onto the papers.

In one, Christine stood tall in center stage as Juliette with her simple gown and outdated jewelry, mouth open in a smile as she sang the opening arietta. The next included a stern, not-so-detailed Madame Giry instructed the obedient Christine where to place her arms for a certain movement. He illustrated the curve of her arms, as well as the rest of her body, with the delicacy of a swan. Each image made Christine look angelic, even if she was performing the most commonplace of tasks: wiping sweat of her brow, chatting with Meg, tying her ballet slippers, fixing her mane of curls, or nervously twirling one of the dazzling rings Erik had gifted to her.

Erik recalled that this had given him a sign of hope. Simply seeing something he'd given her adorning her body was evidence that she didn't entirely despise him for what took place only hours before. There was an odd burning sensation in the pit of his heart, which he quickly dismissed to focus on Christine as well as the remaining sketches. It seemed peculiar that his young student had matured out of being a child- the years had flown by.

\- - - Back to the rehearsal - - -

"I heard that the next show is going to be _Il Muto_!" Meg eagerly whispered to her dear friend while they were chatting in the dressing room.

"That would be quite the comedy." Christine replied almost monotone.

Meg noticed that she seemed dazed whenever M. Reyer, her mother, or the managers weren't directly speaking to her. Christine's mind was elsewhere and she kept her gaze on the gilded mirror in the room. The talkative blonde stopped speaking about the potential new opera, seeing if it drew any response from her friend.

"Are you alright, Christine?" She questioned.

"Pardon? Oh, yes, just feeling sleepy from last night is all." She shrugged.

"Well I heard the Vicomte sounded quite disappointed to have not been met by you for supper."

"He didn't seem to hear my complaint of exhaustion and insisted that I join him, it was really his own ignorance of my response."

"But he honestly looked so pitiful when he realized you weren't coming. It might be best to inform him of your interest in joining him any time other than the night of a performance."

"My Angel always told me to focus solely on music, not silly opera-goers."

"Don't tell me you still believe in such a thing! Who could your instructor truly be after all these years? I don't think angels remain for guidance over such a long time."

"Mine has." She defensively retorted, "But if I must keep away from distractions to excel in my father's hopes for me, so be it."

From behind the mirror, Erik smiled at the faithfulness of his student. What a gratifying feeling it was to have a person, much more a beautiful and talented lady, devoted to oneself! The Daroga would be proven very wrong the next time he'd pay a visit to his masked friend.


	13. Chapter 13: The Music Room

\- - - Current time - - -

And so Christine attended her lesson that night, obedient as ever and perhaps bolder after proving her instructor wrong. He was glad she did so. They went over some lines of _Il Muto,_ Christine singing the Countess' parts under Erik's instruction after he heard the news Meg told her. It was ironic to have the girl in the role of a countess as Raoul, the Vicomte, was vying for her attention.

A few days passed, no major events occurring at the theatre. But there was something that was added to Erik's collection of Christine-related items during this blissful time. Now that their lessons were face-to-face for both parties, the girl didn't bother to leave things on the windowsill since she could simply hand things to Erik. He continued playing tricks on more irritating cast members who tended to mess with the new soprano. In return, she discouraged such activities and presented him with a collection of new fountain pens for composing.

\- - - Back to pre- _Il Muto_ lessons - - -

"It makes me feel guilty for not giving you anything in return for all of the tutelage, Erik. And since I know you would discourage me from presenting frivolities to you, I purchased some pens for your compositions. They'll prove to be quite useful, not frivolous." Christine assured him, handing over the boxed set of pens.

His heart softened at the motion.

"Oh Christine, I will treasure these completely useful tools. The remainder of my _Don Juan_ will be written with these. Though I must insist that you need not fret over giving me anything in return for the lessons."

"Nonsense. Now are we going back to your home so you can play that lovely organ? I think you are somehow even more skilled on _it_ than the violin you usually use."

"Ah, I did not think of that." Erik lied, knowing that his thoughts throughout the entire day dwelled upon their lesson and wishing she would want to go back to his home willingly, however impossible it seemed.

"That is, if you would be alright with it. I don't wish to impose."

"The power you posses over poor Erik prevents you from imposing. What's mine is yours, dear girl. It's a miracle that you have returned but I am more thankful for it than I am for life itself."

Together, they walked through the passage back down to Erik's subterranean, and lavishly decorated with various oddities, home. Christine grasped onto him tightly, knowing that losing her place could be disastrous with the sheer number of differing routes there were. Her teacher, on the other hand, was barely able to breathe at such contact.

Upon entering the house, the pair went off to the music room. The girl stood to the side of the organ while Erik positioned himself in front of it, beginning to play a few simple chords from the piece. Christine's gaze wandered over the rest of the room in awe of everything.

Several instruments were sitting in open cases across the floor and on top of wooden furniture. Sheet music, both his own and that of other composers lay in neat stacks beside the instruments. Gilded candelabras illuminated the entire room and their gothic style matched nicely with the burgundy rugs and dozens of leather-bound books. On the walls, there were a few paintings but the most attention-drawing thing were the sketches. These were clearly Erik's works, all of them drawn with a passionate hand in charcoal and each of them centering on Christine.

Here the girl realized just how expansive those tunnels really were. There was no explanation for how her mysterious tutor managed to see her in all of these places unless there were hiding spots for him to watch her there. Her slight form was pictured in several dancing poses, speaking to Reyer, smiling at Meg, tying the ribbons of her ballet slippers, waiting patiently in the chapel, or sleeping peacefully in her chamber. Each showed Christine at differing ages, from when she began hearing her Angel to just the previous day.

But there were others that she did not recognize. Though the subject was definitely still her, they all took place in what she assumed to be this underground home. Many of them were partially covered by other papers, crossed out, or drawn in a very smudged hand. In these, it seemed to be that Erik had drawn himself as well.

She tried to pull her gaze away, but Christine's eyes would periodically dart back to the unfamiliar sketches while singing her scales.

One of them was in plain sight- Erik's spindly arms and fingers caressing a sleeping Christine. The girl couldn't help but blush. In another, he seemed to be joining her in rest, both of their expressions weary and Christine's hair a tangled mane over the pillow. But there were lines across it, like Erik attempted to scratch out the beautiful image he created. The rest of these drawings were the same: intimate poses between the pair that weren't noticeable from underneath all of the lines trying to cover them up.

"You seem distracted, Christine." Erik's haunting voice brought her mind out of its thoughts.

"I'm simply admiring your music room. How is it possible for one person to be so talented in so many regards?"

"In which regards?" He scoffed, "Lying, deceit, music, illusion? I have done many unforgivable things, Christine. As I said before, the man sitting here is no angel."

"I meant to compliment your artistic skills in the form of playing all of these instruments, composing, singing, and drawing. Your sketches are magnificent."

Erik paled underneath the mask.

"I did not mean for you to see those. My apologies if you think me an intruder in your daily life." He said, hoping she hadn't seen the other sketches that were half-hidden.

"Not at all, I quite like them. Though you did exaggerate the order in my hair, it is not so neat, and I look too un-blemished in them."

"They're drawn by a biased, yet honest eye. Surely you don't believe that I am too kind to you in lessons? I do not hesitate to correct even the smallest of your blunders and so you cannot tell me that the drawings are too flattering. That is simply how I see you. Now, on with the singing and please focus upon it."


	14. Chapter 14: The Story 1

La Carlotta was an audacious woman. Just five weeks before the show was meant to be performed, the Italian soprano returned with a vengeance and refused to leave without a role. As the current opera was _Il Muto_ , she demanded to be the Countess- regardless that Christine was already being prepared for the role. Not being able to ease the red-headed woman, the managers and Reyer had no choice but to let her have her wish.

Meg sneered, "How dare she march in here and take your role? Who are _you_ to be now?"

"Whatever they allow me. There is little else I can do."

"The Opera Ghost won't be pleased."

"And just the other day you chided me for believing in my Angel." Christine mused.

The rest of rehearsals were spent on gossip and some of the leading positions trying to shush everyone else. Carlotta's lover Piangi was obviously delighted, even though he likely knew she would pull such a scheme. By late afternoon, the only other news was that Mademoiselle Daae was to play the Pageboy.

It was a shock to any cast members who sided with Christine. Why would the managers give her the silent role? Hadn't her voice just recently impressed audiences enough for to continue singing? It was of no matter now, for this was the absolute last-minute change possible in casting.

They would have to rush in preparing La Carlotta for her blocking and singing, no matter how much she declared that it was a waste of her time. Christine would also be required to learn new positions and become more focused on facial expressions, her character being mute.

The dormitories were in uproar just as everyone was preparing to go out for dinner, all discussions circling around Carlotta's sudden return. The younger soprano remained seated upon her sofa, thoughts muddled with confusion & imagining her new role. Soon the other rooms were emptied, or at least they all seemed empty. In this silence, Christine heard the whisper of her name from within the walls.

"Erik?" She asked, keeping her voice at a quiet whisper.

"Those idiotic managers are going to regret that little stunt they allowed to pass." Her teacher's voice warned, speaking more to himself than to her.

"Please don't harm anyone. The Pageboy is still a major role, and I would be alright playing him."

"It is a disgrace to the talent and vastly improved technique of your voice."

"What would you like me to do?"

She thought for a moment, having some ideas that didn't refer to this particular show and decided to voice them.

"Take me back to your home, just for a lesson and to spend the remaining part of the day together. It's quiet calming to be away from everyone. As for the managers, perhaps you shouldn't bother them about it, I'm sure they'll give me a better role next time."

"They had better, the next show could very well be my _Don Juan_." Erik scoffed, ignoring Christine's first request.

"What exciting news! I'm glad it's almost complete, though it would be better if you could agree to the _other_ thing I asked of you."

"Do you truly wish to return to my home? To spend time with a person who is more monstrosity than man? You know hardly a thing about my dark past."

"Yes, I do. If there is anything I need to know about your past, you must tell me yourself." Christine argued.

Erik gave in, his own desire of being with her further pushing him to agree to her wishes. Through the dressing room mirror, the masked man pulled his student inside and led her through the un-illuminated paths. The mirror always slid back into place behind them, leaving no trace of Christine's leave.

"How long have you been down here? It must be so lonely to be here without any visitors and only dealing with the affairs of the Opera."

"Well, I'm not always alone. There is a single person from my past that visits me every so often, he is an old police chief from Persia that cannot leave me alone to my own devices. He does not believe that I am capable of being a decent human being without his guidance."

"I'm sure he doesn't think that. He is just a caring friend who wishes you the best and wants to ensure you're alright down here."

Erik rowed them across the misty lake in the black gondola, hiding a small smile as he responded: "He believes the same thing."

"From knowing him, I assume you met in Persia?" Christine asked, hoping she wasn't intruding too much.

"Yes. My times in that country were not very happy ones and I don't wish to tell you about them now."

A few moments of silence ensued, only the rippling sound of water gliding against the paddle creating noise. Christine hummed a quiet tune she remembered her father playing, her voice gradually growing to a mezzo forte dynamic. Her gondolier was lost in the beauty of it, proud to know that such talent came from his teaching. The time seemed to slip away and, all too soon, the boat landed on the bank.

Erik took Christine's delicate hand, helping her out of the boat and onto the rocky floor of his home. All of the rooms were refreshingly open to the subterranean air and Christine was thankful for it, already feeling excited at seeing the pipe organ.

Together, they created music for what seemed like days. The organ's keyboard was being played expertly with such intense vigor by Erik's skilled hands, pairing as a beautiful accompaniment to his student's ethereal, yet deeply emotional voice.

By the end of their lesson, both of their chests were heaving for more oxygen. Perhaps it was just the heat of the moment after performing such a desirous piece, but the pair were practically leaning against each other. Erik had stood up from his playing bench and turned to face Christine, who was positioned directly at his side.

Her small height in comparison to Erik's caused her adoring blue eyes to stare up at him, seeming curious to find out what was happening. A minute had passed and they were both still breathing deeply, standing against one another. The masked man could feel his bloated lip almost trembling from proximity.

It began like the light touch of a butterfly, Christine initiating the contact between their lips. She set her palms upon his chest due to her inability to comfortably reach his shoulders or neck. Erik didn't seem to respond as he'd fallen into a brief daze. In fear that this was just a dream, he took his opportunity to truly return the kiss. His fervor guided his hands to rest at Christine's mid-back and pulled her slim body closer to his own. The girl whimpered slightly as the kiss deepened and sent her head spinning. But it ended too quickly, both of them needing to catch their breaths.

Erik stepped away and turned from his student, already feeling the insecurity creeping in.

"I would like to say something, but I'm speechless." Christine murmured, just loud enough for her teacher to hear, and smiled.

He didn't see, fearing what her response would be.

"Erik? Are you alright?" She questioned in concern as her feet came closer to him.

"Ha! Is Erik alright? It must be the second time I've ever heard such a question! This circumstance is much more favorable than the previous time."

"I didn't mean to hurt y-"

"Hurt?! Definitely not, I'm only amazed you haven't shriveled up and died. Congratulations, dear girl, you have lived through kissing the living corpse!" He said, sounding as if enraged but with tears streaming from his golden-brown eyes.

"Please do not call yourself such demeaning names. You are still a man, a very talented one at that."

"Oh you _are_ such an intriguing girl. I must stop this at once, there is no way I can suppress myself if you dare to do something like that again."

"No, please don't force me away! I find I miss you terribly during rehearsals, even if you are somewhere within the walls and listening to everything."

Erik ran a hand up to his face in agony. It was so difficult to control his impulses with the girl acting so willing to be with him! Oh how that insufferable Daroga would scold him if he were here, reminding him that he warned against intruding in the girl's life. As he paced across the rug, occasionally stepping on some sheet music, Christine watched him in worry.

"Oh _Ange_ , please tell me what you're thinking." She begged.

 _If only it were so easy_...Erik thought. Just seeing her standing there with her chin outstretched in wonder and the caring expression on her fair face. Her untamable curls were still pinned in place- a style that would've been difficult to perfect by anyone besides this young soprano. The lavender gown she had donned complimented her pale skin tone and the light blush on her cheeks. But the exquisite way that it curved over her dancer's frame was what Erik most appreciated about the dress. Much to his dismay, and almost horror, the masked man could feel his trousers tighten before the lovely Christine.

"I'm sorry if I've overstepped my boundaries." She apologized, her gaze falling to the floor.

"No, you couldn't possibly do such a thing. It is simply my unfamiliarity with... touching and whatnot. It is a very unexpected thing for me." He paused, "And if you wish to, I can explain why in further detail."

"Oh please, Erik! You know so much of my life and I know nothing but music of you."

And his story began. This one was of his early childhood, just at the age where comprehension and memories begin. He spoke of his mother's fear of his tragic visage and how she cowered away from her own child because of the deformity. Instead of offering compassion, she refused to face him until Erik put on the crude mask she gave him. It was the first piece of clothing he was given. Time passed and Erik was near the age of five (birthdays not being a commonality) when his mother gave him away to a circus. The owners paid her decently, knowing that the oddity of her bastard son would bring in much better profits.

Christine remained silent, not wanting to interrupt his story, while tears fell endlessly down her cheeks. Her instructor didn't bother to continue with the horrifying details of his life at the circus, stuck in conditions that were worse than that of a caged animal. The empathetic girl couldn't help but get up from her seat on the embroidered cushion and tightly embrace her teacher. His body went stiff beneath her arms, awkwardly reaching behind to her back to return the motion. Now he was crying again.

"You truly are an angel. I cannot believe having such a childhood and still being as wonderfully skilled as you are." The short brunette remarked, her face buried in his collared shirt.

"It is but the beginning of my story, Christine. And by no means does it make me a decent individual- some of my crimes are unforgivable even with such a background."

"I don't believe so, Erik. People can change over time, and you've clearly become better. The only trouble you cause are silly pranks in the theatre."

He shook his head, "No, I'm afraid you've been kept in the dark about the worst I've done at the Populaire."

Christine sat back down, this time directly beside him, and looked expectantly at her teacher as if to prod him onwards. He sighed, feeling ashamed for the first time for his actions. Of course there was always some remorse after committing a crime, but this was the only time Erik truly felt regretful. But Christine would need to learn the truth at some point and now seemed to be one of those times. She wiped her eyes with a dainty handkerchief and listened to his story.


	15. Chapter 15: The Persian

\- - - Current time - - -

Erik kept Christine's laced handkerchief, meaning always to return it to her but simply forgetting about its presence. She left in on the sofa unknowingly due to her falling asleep towards the end of her instructor's story. Fearfully, Erik carried her to the bed for a more comfortable rest and sought refuge before the organ's keyboard. His skilled fingers banged out complex melodies and their dark harmonies, allowing all of his emotions to flow through onto the instrument. There was fear for his own sake. After a while it turned to concern for Christine. Next was anger over the cruelty of the world and how it had forsaken him throughout the entirety of his life.

He never ceased to be amazed by Christine in general, but it was especially impressive how she managed to sleep through all of his musical turmoil. Even when it was incredibly shrill notes being squeaked out of the violin or heavy echoes of the organ or deep tones of his rarely-used cello.

\- - - Back to last chapter - - -

Given that the underground home didn't exactly have walls built around each room, Christine woke and was able to make out the shape of her frustrated Angel working out a chord for his composition. She noted that her gown from the previous evening was still discomfortingly over her body and tried to fix her hair into place.

Erik seemed to sense her awakening, placing the white mask over the disfigured side of his face. It was likely that he took it off at night and if he was in a state of anguish, which he was. Christine imagined how uncomfortable it must be to constantly wear a mask, both physically and as a reminder that the mask was meant to cover the very reason why the world shunned him.

As the curly-haired girl stepped to his side at the organ, she smiled gently and bid him a good morning.

"Morning? My dear, it is almost noon." Erik chuckled nervously, wondering why she was still being friendly to him.

"Oh, then good mid-day. Or at least I suppose that's an appropriate greeting."

"I'm amazed at you once again, Christine."

"What for? I haven't done anything."

"Exactly. Firstly, you managed to sleep through my hammering of the organ. Additionally, you are still here as friendly as ever. Weren't you taught that people who commit crimes are to be left alone? Especially by particularly innocent girls."

"Of course. But I believe that crimes are done without a decent reason, therefore you don't qualify to be a criminal."

"Did I mention my extortion of the managers of this very opera? That _is_ how I acquire my salary."

"I have figured that out for myself. Once again, you are not defining words correctly. Extortion would be if you were demanding it of them in return to your lack of causing them trouble. Perhaps you do play pranks on the cast and send mysterious notes with threats, but the notes _do_ contain valuable suggestions as for artistic direction. You are helping, not just forcing them to pay you for nothing."

"What an angel you are, Mademoiselle Daae."

"Not at all. Everything you've mentioned to me as a crime had a form of decent reasoning behind its doing. That former stagehand was hanged because it was either you or him that would die- that was self-defense for you. All of the older ballerinas told me he was a wretched man anyways."

"This is a dream, you must be fooling me. There is no way a person such as yourself, Christine, would grant me forgiveness for my wrongdoings."

"And another sign of your decency is that you are aware that these actions aren't right and that they must be forgiven. See? You're not a criminal."

"I haven't revealed everything to you. But perhaps you shall want sustenance before I speak of anything else, hm?" Erik suggested, leading Christine away by the crook of her arm.

The pair settled in the kitchen of-sorts and Erik commanded his pupil to remain seated at the small table while he prepared her breakfast. Her blue eyes studied him, smiling in amusement to seeing Erik in an act of domesticity. The hands she knew to be gifted in creating were the same ones serving her a tea of an exotic fragrance and a foreign type of roll filled with cinnamon-apple slices.

The eerie silence of the subterranean realm settled in as Christine had her breakfast, Erik sitting across from her and subtly watching the girl. It was torture knowing that this vision wouldn't be common, Christine would have to leave and continue her life performing. Erik wouldn't dare to clip her wings, knowing she dreamt of it her whole life, and he couldn't imagine putting his years of educating her to waste. This was a temporary circumstance and the masked man cherished every second of it.

Their dream-like state was ended by the sound of swishing water. _No one ever came down to the cellars_ Christine thought, wondering what the source could be and fearing for herself as well as Erik's reaction. An unwanted intruder seeking to find out if the Opera Ghost existed would be entirely unwelcome. The girl dreaded to see Erik in a rage again.

But Erik, who also noticed the sound, was quite sure of the cause and seemed only irritated by it. He stood up to confirm his suspicions, leaving Christine to stare at him in confusion with a teacup in hand. A smaller, simpler boat was paddling across the lake.

Inside, there sat a man who looked unlike any other the young girl had seen. He wore exotic garbs of warmly-dyed fabrics and an astrakhan cap on his head of silver-streaked black hair. A friendly smile appeared on his face upon seeing Erik's standing figure as the man waved in greeting, speaking a few foreign words to him.

Upon seeing Christine seated at the table, the man looked concerned. He began speaking in a more frantic tone while Erik responded calmly in the same tongue, surprising Christine with yet another of his talents.

She only recognized the language once Erik converted back to French, muttering to her: "Would you please tell this man that you aren't harmed or haven't been forcefully brought here?"

"Will he understand me?" She questioned.

"Of course, he is only speaking Farsi to keep you from hearing him scold me as a parent would a child." Erik seemed to retort this comment to the man in the boat, now landing upon the rocky shore of the home.

"Oh, then Iam indeed here of my own accord. In fact, I asked Erik to bring me here once more." Christine vouched, speaking enthusiastically for her teacher's sake.

"Ah, forgive me then, my friend." The man said to Erik in a cheerful tone and slight accent.

"Why were you so worried, monsieur?" Christine questioned.

"It may shock you," He started with a sarcastic voice, "that my friend here has a wild temper that causes him to do unbelievably illogical things."

"That is enough, Daroga." Erik warned.

"Oh is that your name, monsieur? You must teach me to pronounce it correctly." Christine piped up.

"No, it is a title meaning 'police chief' in my language. That was my position in Persia, where I met Erik, and he calls me by it. My actual name is Nadir, and I know yours is Christine."

"What a lovely name yours is! And I presume that you only know my name in good terms of conversation?"

"Undoubtedly, Erik has never said even a partially-negative word about you. He describes you in an almost sacred light."

"That is much too kind of him." Christine smiled, teasingly peering back at the angry-looking masked man.

"Would you kindly halt your mouth from uttering another word?" Erik grimaced.

"Oh certainly, I apologize if I've offended you Erik." Nadir joked, seating himself at the table beside Christine's seat.

As soon as the girl finished with her tea, she excused herself from the table and went to the bedroom to refresh herself. Luckily, the bathroom was at least walled-in so Christin experienced no discomfort while re-dressing in her layers of clothing and tediously re-doing her hair. The men used this time to converse of more private affairs without the girl's suspicion or curiosity to interrupt. Just in case, though, they both switched to Farsi.

"How on Earth did you manage to get your student to willingly come down into this place?" The Persian questioned.

"Is it _that_ unbelievable that an angel such as she would tolerate my presence? Especially with the opportunity of freely practicing music?" Erik responded cleverly.

"A bit, yes. Does she know anything besides your foolish façade of spiritual being?"

"Yes, and, miraculously, she has stayed by finding reasoning for my troublesome behavior."

"How much is the poor girl aware of?"

"That I _have_ killed before, specifically one of the former stagehands, and that I have bee causing more trouble than she imagined as the Opera Ghost."

"Nothing of Persia?"

"No. The only other thing she knows is my wretched childhood and that I asphyxiated the man who kept me in a cage. As I said, a miraculous girl."

"You must tell her the whole truth some day, hopefully soon. It is painful to watch you stare at her so longingly while she is oblivious to you."

"That was unnecessary, Daroga." He snapped, "But she happens to find many things endearing. Even that ridiculous collection of drawings there are of her beside the instruments. I did mean to take them down and obscure them from her vision."

"Perhaps the world isn't so cruel to you, my friend. You have endured the worst possible happenstances of life only to be redeemed now, if you are willing to endure what winning her love would entail."

"I would kill every person on this miserable Earth for her. If she asked me to bring her the moon or revive Cleopatra, I would do it as hastily as possible." Erik responded in a bored tone.

"You will not need for such frivolities, just to listen to her and try not to be so possessive. She clearly yearns for freedom and seeks innocence in all people. Do not ruin her wonderful view of the world."

"This discussion is making me dreadfully uncomfortable."

"Then you're lucky the girl has just returned to us." Nadir informed, causing his masked friend to sharply turn his attention, and then he chuckled "though I think you haven't become less uncomfortable due to the state of your trousers."

Erik shot him a deathly glare before facing Christine, his expression smoothing immediately. She had found one of the gowns he left in her dresser and was now donning it, looking as regal as a queen. The girl thanked him, utterly glad that he was so thoughtful while giving the dress a slight twirl to showcase its elegance.

The Daroga could see why Erik loved this girl so much. Her jovial smile and glimmering blue eyes, despite the dark, were completely untainted by the darkness of reality. Though he hadn't heard her sing, he knew she must've made at least a pleasant-looking ballerina on stage. The pale pink gown dotted in rosettes across the puffy skirt complimented her very well and she possessed a slight, but feminine frame.

"Ah, I can see why my friend likes you so much. You are an incredibly lovely lady and he has told me of your compassionate personality."

"Thank you." She blushed, leaving Erik with a pang of jealousy at such a reaction.

"It's been wonderful to check in on Erik and to finally meet you, Christine. I must depart now, but I hope to see you both soon." The older Persian man smiled kindly and returned to the small boat.

"You as well, monsieur." The girl said, waving goodbye to him.

Erik led her back to the moderately-secluded bedroom of hers to speak with her again. His paranoid mind couldn't help but worry about whether meeting the Persian had altered her opinion of him in any way. Surely his quite obsessive behavior wasn't entirely becoming to her. But by the end of their talk, it was clear that Christine still thought just as highly of him as before.


	16. Chapter 16: Il Muto

_Il Muto_ rehearsals went well. The performance was set to happen that very night and Christine already felt anxious, knowing that Erik would likely disregard her pleas for him to allow the show to go on. He wished her luck from the mirror opening in her dressing room, commenting also on her silly appearance as the Pageboy.

"Oh, but all the wrapping they bound me in is dreadfully uncomfortable! I may not be the most full-figured girl and yet they used up an entire roll of it." She sighed, hunching over in a most unlady-like fashion.

"My goodness, poor Christine entombed like an Egyptian mummy. Now I understand why this role is silent, the bindings prevent you from using your lungs to their full extent. But that does _not_ mean that I am accepting of this terrible casting decision." He blabbered, trying to avoid the subject of her chest being wrapped tightly.

"I'd rather sing in that heavy wig than be silent in all of these wrappings."

"It isn't too late for me to stage a temporary disablement to that insufferable diva, if you wish."

"No Erik! You mustn't, I will be granted another opportunity. Please promise me you won't hurt Carlotta."

"Fine. Good luck, dear girl, I shall be watching you."

She smiled as he disappeared behind the mirror with a swish of his cloak. Madame Giry called her out to the wings of the stage and observed everything from her position. La Carlotta looked simply ridiculous in her costume: strange black inking over her collarbones, outrageously bright pink gown, tall white wig, and over-drawn stage makeup. The ballet girls standing backstage had to stifle their giggles at her so the audience wouldn't hear.

Christine heard her cue from the orchestra and pranced onstage in her Pageboy-pretending-to-be-a-maid costume. Everything was going smoothly and she was exaggerating all of her expressions just as needed for the character. As soon as the Count, played by Piangi, left his wife's chambers, Christine threw off the maid's skirt boldly and earned the gasps of audience members.

But something went wrong. Instead of completing her cadenza, La Carlotta began to _croak_ rather than sing on the descending line. Christine immediately knew this to be Erik's doing. The diva wouldn't have exposed herself to cold air nor had she ever lost her voice from screeching extensively. But there she was in the center of the stage, croaking before the audience like a toad.

The managers immediately stopped the performance, practically sprinting from their seats down to the front of the stage. The velvet curtains were drawn and music stopped for their announcement. As expected, the men stuttered out that the Swedish soprano would replace Carlotta for the performance and that the ballet for Act III would be presented while the changes were being made.

Madame Giry once again pulled her away, this time dressing her as the Countess. All of the layers of restricting binding were removed and replaced by a tight bodice for the pink gown. There wouldn't be enough time to don the wig, so her hair was left in its natural curls and only pinned in an elegant fashion. Christine added diamond jewelry that Erik previously gifted her to appear more regal just before going back to the stage.

She was warmly welcomed on stage and sang the Countess' part flawlessly. Her teacher was indeed watching from his box, enchanted by her talent but only noticing the slight errors in her acting. This character was more brash and womanly than how Christine portrayed her. Erik didn't find himself comforted at the thought of having to comment on this, but knew he must if she was to improve.

At the end of the performance, the audience cheered for Miss Daae and threw several bouquets of flowers onto the stage for her. Erik always left her a single rose tied with a black satin ribbon on her vanity. But as she went back to her dressing room, it was the Vicomte Raoul de Changy that came to congratulate her first. He announced himself as a patron of the Populaire and was even prouder of this fact after hearing Christine's performance.

"It's amusing to think that this diva before Parisian society is the same girl who foolishly ran along the banks of Perros-Guirec and lost her scarf." Raoul joked.

"I did not lose my scarf, you bravely went to go fetch it. You gave your governess a heart attack from how drenched you were." Christine reminisced.

"Would you care to join me for a celebratory outing?"

She paused, "I do not think that would be wise, my instructor still does not allow me to become distracted from music. Besides, it is quite late and I would hate to fall asleep in the carriage."

"Perhaps on another day? When you aren't occupied with rehearsals or performances?"

"That may be manageable, tomorrow is a day off for the performers. It was nice seeing you again Raoul, but I must retire now." She said dismissively with a polite smile.

He bid her a goodnight and left the dressing room, excited for future prospects with the soprano. Christine was glad to see her childhood friend, but it was highly improper for him to waltz into a lady's dressing room unannounced. Instead, the girl was giddy at seeing the usual rose before her vanity and waited for her instructor to spirit her away.

She changed out of the frivolous costume behind the screen, now donning a white nightgown and covered it with a matching robe. Christine removed all of the pins from her hair, allowing it to loosely hang around her shoulders and down her back. The arrival of her teacher seemed to be taking longer than usual, setting a sense of disappointment in the student.

Time passed, Meg and Madame Giry visited her. They were overjoyed at her success and smugly amused at the croaking of Carlotta, both knowing it was the doing of Christine's teacher. It seemed like a fitting punishment for her taunts and vile behavior- humiliation upon her stage in front of an esteemed audience. The Girys noticed that the brunette didn't seem very invested or interested in conversation, assuming she was exhausted from the lead role's strain. They bade her goodnight and left.

Suddenly all of the candles blew out simultaneously and an air of mystery cloaked the air. Christine welcomed it, feeling the presence of Erik somewhere within the walls. His rich voice sang in its ghost-like echo through the entire room, scrutinizing the Vicomte for behaving so inappropriately towards Christine and disgust at _his pompous breed_.

"Angel, I dismissed him immediately. I only waited for you to arrive." She confessed.

"If you insist...your performance went well and you'll be pleased to know that the harpy's condition is only temporary."

Christine laughed at his name for Carlotta.

"Erik, why aren't you showing yourself? I already know you aren't a ghost."

"Do not goad me into bringing you back to my home, you must rest and it would not be beneficial for either of us."

"O-oh, if you truly think so...wh-whatever is best." She stuttered in hurt.

"Goodnight Christine."

She laid down upon the reclining sofa in the dressing room and whispered him a goodnight. Unbeknownst to the girl, her teacher remained watching her from the mirror and he frowned. Her disappointment was evident, but he couldn't come up with a reasonable answer as to why. However, Erik decided it would be unacceptable to have her sleep the entire night in her drafty dressing room, especially on a couch. Once the masked man was sure she had fallen asleep, he lifted her from the room and took her down to his home as carefully as possible. She spent the night in the plush, scarlet cushioning of the bed with the pewter dove frame.

Seeing her pure, angelic form among the richly-colored sheets inspired him to edit sections of his _Don Juan_. It became evident that his project wouldn't quite be ready for performing after _Il Muto_ stopped running. Perhaps there was a different project he could suggest the managers take up in the meantime- the uncommonly performed _Ruslan and Lyudmila_ by Glinka...or maybe Beethoven's _Fidelio_ , the old Cavalli's _La Calisto_ , Smetana's recent release of _The Bartered Bride_. Christine would excel at any of the lead roles. She was his muse and inspiration for art.


	17. Chapter 17: The Diva's Departure

"She cannot-a be the lead! And _why_ am I the evil one?" Carlotta shrieked, her voice relatively healed after a week.

The cast list was just announced for _Ruslan and Lyudmila_ , Christine winning the lead role without any of Erik's intervention. It would begin with a scene of foreshadowing for the recently-married couple. She was to bid her two former suitors goodbye. Toasts would be made by guests, then a sudden darkness overcomes the stage- the light returning to reveal Lyudmila being kidnapped. The three suitors set off to find the missing girl through Act II: Ruslan seeking out a wizard for help and the suitor, Farlaf, being approached by the dark sorceress Naina. The third suitor, Ratmir, meets the maiden Gorislava, instantly falling in love with her and later running into Ruslan.

Lyudmila longs for her betrothed, trapped in the gardens of her kidnapper- the dark sorcerer Chernomor. The rescuers resist the enchantments of the forest, challenging the wizard with the call of a trumpet and succeeding in saving the kidnapped girl. Overnight, they all camp in a moonlight valley with Ratmir standing guard who soon hears that Lyudmila has been kidnapped again and Ruslan went out to find her. The wizard returns to Ratmir and gives him a magic ring to awaken the girl upon reaching her.

In the final scene, Farlaf stands beside Naina. The suitor meant to pose as her rescuer but turned out to be her abductor all along, and is unable to awaken her. A rumbling of approaching horses grows louder as the rescue party arrives, Ruslan bringing the magic ring for Lyudmila and the girl awakening in his arms. They return to Kiev, people celebrating the young couple and their gods.

"Signora, the role suits Mademoiselle Daae's voice best and she has been the center of attention for the Populaire, which is what the managers are really paying attention to." Monsieur Reyer said, mumbling the last part.

"And you gave that blond rat a part the same size as mine!" The self-assured diva proclaimed, now spitting at Meg.

"That is incredibly unprofessional, Sign-" Reyer began.

"How dreadfully rude! First, you prod at me and now you attack my friend." Christine proclaimed angrily.

Carlotta gawked, "How dare you shout at me you-!"

The deep voice of the infamous Opera Ghost echoed through the theatre: " _I dare you to finish your sentence, Signora. It would be unfortunate should another tragic befall you, as you have remained impossibly in-employment here._ "

A silence befell the cast. Carlotta's jaw dropped, the Italian diva quickly starting to shout again and leaving the stage in a mad frustration. She shouted in her native language, ordering everyone to collect her belongings because she was determined to leave the Populaire Naina-less for the show and hopefully in shambles. It obviously wouldn't be that big of a problem, the cast having plenty of other mezzo-sopranos to do the part.

"As Signora Guidicelli has left, the role of Naina will be given to Madame Adele Deblois." The conductor announced nonchalantly.

"Thank you, Monsieur Reyer." Madame Deblois responded, smiling discreetly as she joined the cast on stage.

The first rehearsal began, Christine playing as the desired Lyudmila and clutching onto Ruslan's arm as they made their way through crowds of people. Soon to be married, the people congratulated the couple. At the end of their route stood the kinder, yet mysterious wizard played by Signor Piangi; surprising that he stayed despite Carlotta's departure. He sang out a prophecy for them- the couple would soon be troubled, and later live happily.

Scenes were going well, the orchestra was rehearsing, ballerinas leaping across the stage. But Christine felt something was wrong. Madame Giry's choreography was perfect and fitting, the orchestra only missed a few notes from sight-reading, cast members playing townsfolk were following their directions...and yet there was something else that was askew. This feeling lingered over the whole duration of the rehearsal.

A sole interruption disrupted her thoughts- Raoul de Changy. He came onto the stage during a break. It was only then that the girl remembered their arrangement for tomorrow's lunch and briefly felt guilty for forgetting. His bright, boyish smile attracted everyone's attention, bringing all of the working to a halt.

"Hello Christine, excuse me if I'm disrupting the practice." The blond Vicomte greeted.

"Not at all, Raoul." She smiled.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow as well. If it suits your plans, I would be happy to escort you from the entrance of the Populaire at noon."

"That works wonderfully, thank you."

"Which show is the theatre putting on? I heard a few of the potential ideas earlier."

"It's Glinka's _Ruslan and Lyudmila_."

"I think I remember that story, it was Russian...by Pushkin!"

"Yes, that's the correct story."

"It struck me as being a bit odd, I don't understand how one of her suitors kidnapped her to pretend to be a rescuer while the other falls in love with some other dame along the road."

"I suppose." Christine shrugged, pausing the conversation when Reyer announced the end of the break.

"Ah, I should leave you to your work. See you tomorrow, Little Lotte." Raoul waved, exiting through the backstage area.

The young brunette bid him goodbye and turned her attention to the orchestra conductor, still feeling a bit odd about the acting. She mindlessly went through the rehearsing, her heart incapable of being fully invested. Reyer must've blown off her blunders and assumed it was just from starting to work on this opera.

Once rehearsal ended, Christine chatted a bit with Meg over their dinner along with the rest of the dancers she'd grown up with. But she didn't waste extra time in talking to them, seeming to only look forward to seeing Erik. That visit from the Opera Ghost he performed made her heart pound excitedly in her chest. Her return to the dressing room was hurried and she glanced over her shoulder every once in a while to ensure no one followed her.

In the safety of the room, she locked the door and stood before the mirror. Erik must not have been there, the panel not sliding away to reveal his mysterious, cloaked figure. Perhaps he was occupied with watching the managers' business dealings- he never seemed to trust them with such responsibilities. Christine remembered how Erik would tell her how unprofessional these men were: drinking whenever possible, smoking expensive cigars, using the ballet harlots for fun, and spending many a night partying.

With her older age, Christine realized that _this_ was why her teacher pushed her to focus on her work. He wouldn't bear to see her being used like a handkerchief by one of those idiotic men of the theatre. And it was likely a bit of the fondness the pair acquired for one another over the years. Christine had no idea how she could've come so far and continue to go on through her life without his ghostly presence.

Amidst her thoughts, she didn't immediately notice the mirror sliding over to the side.

"A penny for the thoughts of a goddess seems inferior." Erik's deep, teasing voice echoed through the cavernous tunnel behind him.

"Erik!" Christine cheered, her head turning upwards to look at him.

The girl stood up, rushing over to embrace him.

"Hello Christine, you didn't seem this invested during the rehearsal."

"Sorry, _Ange_ , I couldn't help but feel something amiss about the acting."

"Were your suitors mediocre?"

"That seems to be a harsh word, but something didn't feel quite right."

"How can I be of assistance, dear girl?"

"I need you to teach me. Whenever we have a lesson, the rehearsals go much better."

Erik obliged to her wish, leading her down to his home by the arm. Along the way, he asked her what plans she had for the day off tomorrow. Nervously, the student confessed that Raoul invited her out and she had accepted his offer...but only as childhood friends. He was a kind, playful soul that Christine was fond of. But she couldn't think of courting him- the Vicomte was too much like a brother to her.

This news clearly angered the instructor, his responses seemed to become colder and more bitter. Christine was hurt that he didn't seem to understand her true sentiments.

"Erik, I only mean to be polite. He is like a cousin or brother to me, not at all a suitor and definitely no distraction." The girl explained.

"Yes, but what of the boy? Surely he wouldn't be so bothersome if he merely wished to be your friend."

"Raoul would respect my wishes."

"And if he does not?"

"He is a Vicomte, there is a set of morals his family must uphold."

"Ah, but he _is_ a Vicomte, permitted to get away with much more than any ordinary person and won't need to listen to a 'lowly opera singer'. Though in my mind, you are the only person deserving of the world's adoration."

"You flatter me, Erik. And you overestimate Raoul's animosity."

"Let's forget the boy, shall we? Once again, the focus shall remain on music."

"That would likely be best." Christine agreed upon reaching his home, stepping towards the all-too-familiar hall to the music room.

The music began, dramatic chords of Erik's pipe organ sounding in the air with the echoing walls of his underground home. Christine felt euphoric in singing her heart out about longing to find her way home as Lyudmila did in the opera. The soaring notes rose her very soul from her heart and dizzied her. Once Erik chimed in, singing the other characters' lines, it was pure paradise. Their voices intertwined like two birds loftily flying beside one another in a most graceful fashion. Both of their hearts were drumming in their chests by the end of the piece, giving Christine the satisfaction and delight that nothing else seemed to provide her with.

Through singing her very soul out, Christine was drained of energy and nearly collapsed onto the stone floor. Erik was quick enough to catch her, smiling sadly as he carried her onto the bed which was always available for her use. Even though he felt wretched every moment of doing so, he couldn't help but caress her delicate face and examine the unique curls of Christine's hair as she slept. It was pleasure that he glut himself upon knowing that his student would one day leave him, and probably for that insolent de Changy boy. And in that moment, the masked man formulated an ultimatum for Christine to respond to relatively soon.


	18. Chapter 18: The Vicomte

In the morning, which was only signaled by Christine's awakening, the pair breakfasted quietly. Erik had been playing and composing all night, only requiring strong coffee as his meal; he also didn't want to remove his mask before his student only so he could eat more easily. Besides, his several years of malnutrition as a child caused him to feel little appetite throughout the rest of his life. In his mind, Erik was busy thinking of the proposition he was to make for Christine.

The girl seemed to suddenly remember her meeting with the Vicomte, finishing her meal quickly and excusing herself from the table to change clothes. She could feel her tutor's discomfort after mentioning Raoul to him. But it was of no matter, Christine thought herself as the mistress of her own actions and wouldn't allow Erik to overpower her. Of all the gowns in the subterranean home's closet, the young soprano picked out one made of a sky blue damask that complimented the color of her eyes. She pinned up part of her hair and put on the diamond earrings she'd worn last night.

"You look simply marvelous, my dear." Erik stated once the girl exited from her room.

"Thank you, Erik." She smiled.

"It is a shame that the effort is for the fop, but I digress." He said, stopping himself before Christine could grow angry at his rude behavior.

Instead, the girl remained silent and followed his lead back to the doorway out of his realm. The silence that was usually so calming was now distressing and awkward, only the swishing of Christine's skirt echoing in the expansive tunnels. They went up and crossed the golden threshold of the mirror passageway, leading to the candle-lit dressing room. Christine thanked Erik for the night and looked expectantly at his troubled expression.

His gaze was firmly fixed on the carpet-covered floor, the lantern still in his hand. Only the unmasked side of his face was in Christine's view and she focused on his shadowy form in the dim lighting...waiting. It was clear that the man was trying to formulate the words to convey what was on his mind.

"My dear girl, please do not forget your teacher. I have constantly asked you to do so, although that was when you believed me to be a supernatural being and told you not to be _distracted_."

"It would be impossible for me to forget you, _mon Ange_."

"The request is for my own reassurance, but keep it in mind while with the Vicomte."

Not completely understanding exactly what he alluded to, Christine nodded emotionlessly and waved goodbye to the sorrowful man. With a swish of his black cape, Erik vanished, leaving the mirror just as it was before.

The girl stood alone, thinking of the irony that the Populaire was putting on such an opera, especially with Christine as the lead role. Both Raoul and Erik made it clear that they had interests in her. However, the difference was that Christine was to make a choice and couldn't simply follow whoever she'd been betrothed to.

Several of her recent nights were spent with Erik...it was only fair that she had at least today with Raoul. The soprano cared for both of them and wanted to have relations with each, but she could only remain with one. Her over-thinking mind became occupied at weighing the benefits and losses of choosing either.

Hearing the conversation of ballerinas outside of her dressing room, Christine went out and made her way out to where she was meant to meet with Raoul, knowing that he would be there soon. The luxurious halls and rooms of the Populaire which normally felt inviting, now felt cold. Thinking of such a dilemma spoiled her mood, but she put on a smile for the Vicomte.

There he stood- right beside one of the dark statues of women that held up a candelabra, studying the detail of her form. Upon noticing Christine's delicate footsteps on the marble floors, Raoul turned to face her with a bright grin. It would've been contagious on any other day, but the circumstances made it difficult for her smile so brightly.

"Hello Lotte, you look marvelous." Raoul greeted, offering her the crook of his arm.

She accepted his arm and responded teasingly, "Thank you, Monsieur le Vicomte."

"It's quite warm outside, but the park has plenty of trees for shade."

"Sounds wonderful, Raoul."

The went out of the massive, arching doorway and were blinded momentarily by the sunlight. A conversation-less minute passed as they walked towards the park.

"I heard some of the other performers on their way out talking about some ghost story from the Opera. It reminded me of your father, if you don't mind my mentioning him."

"Of course not." She assured, "What sort of ghost story?"

"A phantom with a mask that plays tricks on little ballerinas and helps the managers make decisions with his threatening letters."

"That's quite funny." Christine said, masking any feelings in her voice.

"It's odd. As a patron, the managers have spoken to me about this apparent ghost and showed me the letters. Firmin believes it to be a strange man living somewhere in the Populaire, possibly a dangerous one as well."

"How would a man possibly do the things the Phantom has done? It would require an impossible level of skill. Additionally, it would be obvious if a man lived inside the theatre and no one's discovered such a man."

"Very true." He paused, "They also mentioned you were missing after rehearsals and performances."

"Perhaps they didn't know where to look. I barely left the opera and remained primarily in my dressing room or met with my vocal instructor."

"The ghost seems to favor you." Raoul continued.

"I...suppose." Christine agreed, refusing to meet his eyes with the suspicion in his voice.

"Are you sure there is no reclusive man in the theatre?"

"Rao-"

"Christine, please. I will believe you if you insist that it's the truth. There simply can't be a ghost."

"I _am_ being honest." She lied, directing her gaze back at him for reassurance.

"Alright. I had to know that you weren't in danger, especially of such a peculiar man."

"Thank you for your concern. But there is no danger whatsoever for me at the opera."

"Good. And you never told me who this unknown instructor you keep seeing is, no one seems to know anything about this individual. Even Mademoiselle Giry didn't answer my questions."

Alarms went off in Christine's mind at the comment. What if Raoul suspected? Perhaps it would only be fair that they both knew of each other, and Christine hated lying to the Vicomte. It would also be wrong to betray the secret of Erik's existence. This day seemed to complicate itself further and further. And all the while she was quiet, Raoul began to stare at the girl in confusion.

"Did I say something? I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries." The young man questioned.

"Oh no, my teacher just dislikes being spoken of and remains quite private."

"Your _Angel_ as you called him before?"

"Well, you remember that my father promised me an angel and that was what I consider my tutor to be."

"Ah, of course. It was just ironic that you call this man an angel and deny that there is a different man pretending to be a ghost at the Populaire."

"I suppose."

The pair arrived at the café Raoul planned for them to eat at, sitting down at a table with a distinct tension in the air. Once the waiter took their order and left them alone for a little while, the conversation livened again.

"Christine, I am no fool. It seemed strange that there was this unseen ghostly figure that favored you as well as a teacher you believed to be an angel. He has clearly captured your attention and requires a lot of devotion from you." Raoul asserted.

She sighed, "Forgive me. As I said, he is a very private man and I don't wish to betray his privacy."

"You are neither confirming nor refuting my suggestion."

Christine sipped her tea and stared down at the lacy tablecloth.

"Raoul, could we please talk of something else?"

She had finished her small plate and tea, staring out at the calm passersby strolling about. What bliss it would be to not be plagued with an impossible dilemma. It also would've been a wonderful early afternoon: dark green trees dotting the sidewalks, pale sunlight shining over the view, traditional Parisian-style architecture, distant music from street-performers, and wafting smells of freshly-baked doughs. Christine was developing a headache from the war going on inside her mind.

The Vicomte seemed to grow impatient at her silence, and she knew it as well. The whole situation made her feel guilty about leading on both men as she took her time trying to sort out her own feelings. It was strange to have been left alone throughout her entire life and then be faced with two possible suitors. The soprano was still young- she wasn't prepared to make such a decision anyways.

Once the waiter brought out the bill, Raoul quickly paid and took Christine along by the crook of the arm. It was clear that both of them were distraught. They were too lost in their thoughts and too discomforted by the results of the last discussion to strike up another one. Luckily, the Populaire was a short distance away so they returned soon.

Just before the entrance, in between two of the white columns, Raoul pulled the girl aside. Finally, their eyes met and Christine seemed surprised at his abruptness.

"I hope you can forgive me for being so bold today, but I just had to ease my mind."

"It is alright, Raoul. I understand."

"Thank you for joining me this afternoon, good day."

"Good day to you as well, and thank _you_ for the invitation." She smiled faintly.

Raoul pulled her arm closer to himself slightly, just enough for him to kiss her cheek as a goodbye. The girl would've welcomed his friendly gesture but the feeling of someone watching them made her uncomfortable and feel exposed.

The Vicomte left in his extravagant carriage as Christine waved goodbye to him. A few cast members stood beside the doorway, likely to eavesdrop on them, and greeted the young soprano as she entered. But Christine only wished to see Meg, the only person who wasn't putting any sort of pressure on her.

She walked throughout the hallways and dormitories, trying to find the blonde ballerina to no avail. Meg wasn't in her room, nor her mother's room, nor onstage, nor in a practice room, nor in the kitchens. There was only one other place to check: the stables. Horses always appealed to most of the girls, but Meg was especially attracted to the serenity she felt whilst caring for them.

On her way towards the back doors, Christine heard a voice...the voice of her teacher.

 _Boldness is unexpected for Vicomtes._

"Erik, please. He simply asked me a question that I refused to answer."

 _Hmm...a bold question?_

"Yes. He put two-and-two together; he's figured out that the Populaire's Phantom is also my instructor and most definitely not a supernatural being."

 _Intriguing, the boy actually has a brain! Hopefully not one of foolish impulses._

"Raoul is very kind and wouldn't harm you even if he had any evidence."

 _Perhaps...but I've learned to trust nobody. The closest is you._

"Well, what do you want me to do Erik? I will not be tossed around like a toy and ordered around like a dog!" She exclaimed.

 _Indeed. You deserve the utmost respect, my dear, but I fear this will not end until you make a decision._

"I dread that. May I go see Meg now?"

 _Ah, your friend is not on the premises today. She has gone out with a red-haired fop._

"Are all other men fops to you?"

 _Mostly, others are imbeciles and very few are decent._

"What of the Daroga?"

 _Imbecile. A helpful one, but an imbecile nonetheless._

"He deserves a rest from caring for you all these years."

 _Exactly why he is an idiot- how could one stand to be around myself for that long_?

"Don't be so critical of yourself. Appearances are shallow things that worsen no matter what happens, especially for cruel people."

 _If only the rest of the world had your heart, Christine_. _Goodbye._

"What do you mean?"

Silence.


	19. Chapter 19: The Downfall

A week of _Ruslan and Lyudmila_ performances had been completed, audiences impressed with the artistry of the opera and especially with the voice of Mademoiselle Daae. Raoul congratulated her endlessly, trying to make up for his brashness about her instructor. The Giry's were overjoyed for the girl's success as well. But things had changed, Christine had to work even harder to perform with the same strength. It was all because of Erik's disappearance.

It was quite noticeable that something was wrong to anyone who knew Christine. She became more isolated, her smiles were false, dark circles formed below her restless eyes, her skin paled even further, she couldn't eat nor sleep, and it took much more effort to sing properly without the inspiration Erik gave her. Meg tried cheering her up, inviting her to outings at extravagant little shops and spending more time with her. It was all to no avail. The girl seemed lifeless.

Madame Giry took notice, asking the soprano if she required anything and deciding to visit the masked man by the end of the week. Given Christine's surprising state, she was sure that he would be faring much worse. He hadn't even sent messages to the managers about the next production meant to take place after the last performance of _Ruslan and Lyudmila_. There weren't any comments on the talent of his student's work.

The ballet mistress made her way down to the dank, cold cellars with a lantern in hand to illuminate the stone walls. She stepped carefully over the small puddles of water then found herself at the shore of the lake, stepping into the gondola. As it was on this side of the lake, perhaps Erik left his home. But Madame Giry had to see the vacant house to ensure so.

Unexpectedly, her stern green eyes caught sight of Erik's skeletal body lying on the floor beside his home as she reached the opposite bank of the lake. He was neither awake nor asleep, the mask slanting sideways off his face and some strange objects on the ground. Upon investigation, the woman identified them as utensils for administering morphine to oneself. The melodramatic man's eyes were half-open and he seemed to barely be breathing. His pitiful state angered Madame Giry.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him up onto a nearby chair into a seated position. His eyes opened fully and glared at the woman, feeling a dreadful headache of withdrawal forming.

"How dare you!" She shouted, making him wince at the volume of her voice.

"What have I done now?" Erik chuckled bitterly.

"Used morphine, of course! _Mon Dieu_ , you are a self-harming wreck and so careless of others! Can you even imagine how awful your student is feeling at your apparent disappearance?"

"That girl is likely waltzing around with her boyishly brash fop, just as before. Except now, there's no fear that her menacing teacher will intrude."

"You fool! I will take you to see her- then you'll see how utterly joyful she is!" She exclaimed sarcastically.

"I don't know what you're speaking of. My being her tutor was a horrible mistake and Christine is better off without me controlling her."

"Erik, no one could ever _control_ Christine. She is a stubborn girl who _chose_ to obey you, even after knowing of your true form. Perhaps it was the wrong way of going about things, but somehow she needs you."

" _Somehow_ " He repeated mockingly.

"Yes. You deceived her, threatened people she knew, and tried forcing her to do as you wished. Any ordinary person who didn't care for you wouldn't be so lost without you."

"You're trying to be kind and drag me out of this state. Well, I won't be abandoning my morphine as long as I live, which hopefully won't be much longer now."

"Alright, but I am not one to exaggerate the truth. Christine has been much worse over this week than ever before."

He groaned in agony, what sweet wishful thinking it was! His Christine missing him! It couldn't be, he was too monstrous for such a thing. Surely, even if he did return, the girl would clearly be agitated at his disappearance. Erik considered lying to her again, a common excuse in his world, and tell her that he had business to attend to outside of the Populaire. But that wouldn't be the honorable thing to do. After all, she seemed to prefer honorable men anyways.

Madame Giry continued despite his silence, "Has your other friend visited you lately?"

"No, I sealed the entryway he comes from a fortnight ago. Besides, he informed me that he has left on an apparent _well-deserved holiday_."

"No matter, you must dress and prepare yourself. I cannot stand seeing both of you sulking around like the undead. Collect yourself over the next week or I will inform Christine myself of what you've really been doing."

"Damn you!" He snarled, "Deliver my _Don Juan_ to the managers, it will entertain the possibility of my existence and must be performed next. It is my life's work, written for Christine to sing and only when it is performed will I return to the girl."

"Fine, but I must hold you against harming anyone."

"We have an accord. What do you want from me anyways?! You're tormenting me."

"What do you want with Christine? You say she is your muse yet you push away from her constantly."

"The truth? I can't stand to be near her anymore! She is not a mere child anymore, definitely not, and seeing her so willing leaves me aching to rip apart whatever garbs she is wearing then take her. Is that what you wanted to hear?!"

"Maintain some dignity, Erik. You may dress in gentlemen's evening clothes, but you don't act the part of a gentlemen. I shall force you away from the girl if you ever speak to me in such a way, drugged or not."

"Ha, dignity. As if a murderer, extortionist, and deceiver would have any of _that_."

"Our deal remains the same. You have 3 weeks, Erik."

Erik groaned in response, and also in sheer pain of his entire body going through withdrawal. He leaned against the wall for support, glaring up at Madame Giry. The woman revealed no pity for his condition and walked off to find an exit path, leaving him alone once again in the darkness.

His ill mind thought of nothing but Christine: her dancing, the kindness of her heart, her constant compassion, her innocence, the disorder of her curly hair, rosy pink blush that appeared when she was flushed, her dedication towards music, and _her voice_. The girl was pure ecstasy to him, the only thing that relieved his morphine aches. It would be torture to see her as his _Don Juan_ 's Amnita- the picture of a virginal maiden who longed for the Don's love.

A well-executed and detailed plan had to be constructed for their reuniting. Erik wanted to catch his student by surprise, likely in a most dramatic method but without exposing his true identity to the audience. Perhaps he could stage an incident to appear on-stage with her. After all, it was written for the two of them to sing together. Any other voices simply wouldn't do.

There was so much that could go wrong! What if Erik waited too long? Would Christine abandon the thought of her tutor returning? It was likely her next choice was that blasted Vicomte. The masked man could turn into absolute madness on his own, but his violent tendencies suggested a potential murder. Then, of course, his student wouldn't be returning to him anyways. The effects of the morphine wore off in such a stressful state of things, leaving Erik to anxiously plot in his lair.


	20. Chapter 20: The Visits

"I brought you more tea with honey." Meg announced, coming towards Christine's bed.

The poor soprano had fallen ill, however the doctor couldn't quite determine what she was sick with. She was diagnosed with a bad cold and the Giry ladies tended to her over the last week. Unfortunately, there hadn't been any improvements in her condition no matter how much tea, honey, soup, ginger, lemon, or other remedies Christine had. She was half-conscious most of the time anyways and unable to enjoy the festivities of Christmas that were about to take place. When she spoke in her frail voice, Christine only spoke of Erik and the stage.

"Thank you, Meg." The brunette coughed.

"Now, do not strain your voice just to thank me. I know you would do the same for me."

She smiled weakly.

"Oh, Raoul came yesterday and asked to see you. _Maman_ didn't permit him to even come in the dormitory building."

"I don't wish to see anyone."

"And you shouldn't! Not until you feel better, at least."

Meg continued to talk about the other dancers or chorus girls and what their plans were over the upcoming holidays. The conversation helped pass some of the time while Christine drank the tea and listened to the gossip. Many of the girls either went to see their families or to remain with their friends at the Populaire. Christine was almost falling asleep again until Madame Giry entered the room to stand behind her daughter.

Her stern face never revealed much emotion to help Christine predict what she had come to say. The ballet mistress sat at the foot of her bed, looking down at the floor. Meg fell silent and waited for her mother to speak. Tension filled the room like a fog, the silence only making it more obvious. The soprano was more alert and sat up in bed to show her attention.

"The managers are to put on your tutor's _Don Juan Triumphant_ as soon as you are well. They received the finished score last night." Madame Giry announced.

At this, the girl's weary eyes widened and she straightened her form: "How did they receive it? Is Erik alright?"

"Calm yourself, child. It was placed on the _bureau_ of their office, and Erik...has been in better conditions."

"What do you mean, Madame?"

"I will not lie to you, Christine, he is worse than you. If no one had come to visit him soon, he could have very well died down in those cellars."

"Oh God!" The girl exclaimed in anguish, tears falling down her cheeks.

"He will be better soon, your tutor will not leave you unless it is what you wish."

"I could never wish him to leave me. Please tell me when Erik is returning!" She said before breaking into a fit of coughs.

"It would be best if you were well and then met with him. That is my final verdict." Madame Giry said, leaving the room hastily afterwards.

In her distressed state of mind, the soprano cried out at the thought of Erik being ill and not knowing what would become of him. Meg held her friend's weakened frame within her arms and felt pity for the ache in her heart.

It was shocking to _feel_ how frail Christine was with this illness. It seemed to her naïve mind that this was no mere cold...perhaps a sickness stemming from the pain of losing her dear teacher. But the ballerina was intrigued at Christine: why was she so tormented by the dangerous and strange Phantom when the Vicomte was so willing?

With Raoul, the girl would have a title, a predictable life as a Vicomtesse, a youthful husband, and company of socialites. The blonde would've happily left with the Vicomte ages ago if offered the choice. But something bound Christine to her teacher.

She seemed happier after seeing him, quite different from the less inviting reaction she gave to Raoul for visiting her. And what did her mother mean by his being unwell? It was strange to think of the infamous Phantom being bedridden as Christine was.

But these thoughts led Meg to realize that her friend had always been a bit distant since her arrival at the Populaire. She always thought of the cause being her father's death. And yet, the girl always seemed to be quietly lost in her own world or attracted to something that piqued her curiosity. The Phantom was plenty of a mystery to capture the girl's attention for such a long time.

It seemed a true enough theory: Christine had always loved the darker, twisted operas whereas Meg preferred the light, comical operas about fantasy characters with happy endings. Her friend also spent many a night looking up at the stars glittering around the bright moon until she fell asleep. Perhaps the ballerina should've predicted that Christine would prefer Erik.

"Oh Meg, now it seems silly for me to be wallowing in bed with the new opera needing to be rehearsed within the next fortnight." Christine sighed.

"New opera?" A youthful male voice questioned from the doorway.

Both of the girls shifted positions to see Raoul standing a few meters away from the foot of Christine's bed. The blonde girl smiled politely at the Vicomte, but the brunette's expression revealed a sense of surprise, neither welcome nor unwelcome.

"What an unexpected visit, Raoul." Christine finally spoke, the weakened tone finding its way back into her voice.

"Ah, the honorable Madame Giry wouldn't permit me to wish you a hasty recovery earlier so I came to the conclusion that sneaking in here was my only choice. Do pardon me for any improperness." The young man smiled generously.

Meg piped up: "You are forgiven, Monsieur le Vicomte, for you bear no ill will in your actions."

"Thank you Mademoiselle Giry. Though you must call me Raoul."

"And you must call me Meg."

The two spoke kindly to one another, not wanting to cause poor Christine any strain in her sickened state. And it was no offense to the brunette, she didn't know what to say to Raoul anyways. Her mind was too befuddled about the news of Erik.

Raoul continued: "Well, which opera is being performed?"

At this Christine spoke: "It is titled _Don Juan Triumphant_ and has never been put on anywhere else, as my own teacher wrote the score."

Discomfort appeared on his face at hearing of her tutor.

"Ah, yes, your teacher. Which roles do you both hope to secure?" Raoul questioned to change the topic.

"Oh, I would be happy with any larger ballerina role." Meg smiled.

Christine didn't say anything, which prompted the Vicomte to ask her directly about the opera.

"And you, Christine?"

The brunette had a bitter expression on her face, "I already know my role is supposed to be Amnita, the lead soprano. It was written for me."

"Ah yes, I should have predicted that." Raoul muttered.

An uncomfortable silence replaced their conversation, Meg attempting desperately to rid of the unease. But soon Madame Giry returned to guide her daughter out to stage with the other ballerinas so they could discuss the next show. The ballet mistress was, as always, incredibly stern and even more so upon seeing Raoul in the room. She thought him insolent for disobeying her instructions of propriety.

Christine's guests were all removed from the room and the girl breathed out a sigh of relief. The pressure they created by reminding her of _Don Juan_ , Erik, and the unavoidable decision she knew had to be made. It was dreadful to have so much in mind whilst ill! Christine lied in complete boredom, wrapped up in a thin blanket, and attempted to clear her head. Her eyelids drooped heavily as she fell asleep but the feeling of someone's gaze troubled the girl momentarily.


	21. Chapter 21: The Opera Begins

Dark surroundings with only the dim, familiar glow of candlelight provided some minimal illumination to the scene. Comforting warmth enveloped her, as did the sound of rich music playing from an unknown source. It was clear that this place was meant to be the underground lair, but romanticized in Christine's mind to be much more elegant than it was in reality.

She felt her hand being held as delicately as a blooming flower and saw the shadowy masked face of her tutor before her, seeming as though he had lied beside her. His face came closer and the girl felt a flush come to her cheeks and felt herself desire his touch with every fiber of her being...

"Christine!" Meg's shrill voice exclaimed from beside her.

The soprano opened her eyes, realizing that she experienced a very life-like dream and not Erik actually being beside her. There was a sense of disappointment as her heart dropped, but the blush had remained on her cheeks after waking up. She tried to hide it from Meg, running a cool hand across her cheeks before facing her friend.

"Pardon me, I fell asleep soon after Raoul left." Christine explained, sitting up slightly.

"That was likely a good thing, you didn't experience _maman_ 's wrath towards him."

"I simply cannot believe Raoul's audacity to come into my room, especially when he was so obviously unwelcome in here."

"Yes, quite improper to come into a lady's room. But some of the girls heard that the Vicomte is seeking a potential bride, and is highly considering you for the position." Meg gossiped.

"You make it sound like a working proposition." Christine snorted.

"Apparently so, especially since it would give you a title and several Lady's responsibilities. Come to think of it, becoming the Vicomtesse would be quite a job."

Both of the girls giggled, making further jokes about the silly habits of wealthy socialites like Raoul's family. It was clear that Christine was never meant for a life such as a Vicomtesse's: constant judgement, proper birth position, always being seen as a lowly opera singer, no longer allowed to sing on stage, and forbidden to see her Angel again.

No, it was not the life for Christine. She wished to spend her days enthralled in a simple, happy life with the music that had always been prevalent in her life. It became a necessity, just as water or food were to her. Erik provided the music to her ever since Gustave Daae died, but even he was gone now. The thought left Christine on a bitter note.

Meg had brought her more tea and quickly excused herself afterwards since rehearsals were underway, even as Christine was ill. However, her condition improved greatly overnight after hearing news of Erik. She needed to get well in order to see her tutor again and ensure that he was alright. It was her primary motivation to recover, besides the excitement of performing his _Don Juan_ for him.

* * *

A week passed and Christine had progressed in her health, allowing her to attend rehearsals again. The entire cast seemed anxious about the opera, knowing it was written by the fearsome Opera Ghost and that the music was strange...very different from the older works they usually performed. These songs were dramatic, passionate, and included seductive lyrics of the star-crossed couple.

The complexity of the music proved to be difficult for many of the singers and for members of the pit orchestra. Reyer consistently had a headache forming after all of the corrections he made a thousand times a day. He only commended Christine for singing it as written, although he didn't know that her own instructor wrote the music and had been preparing her for it a long ways before these rehearsals.

By the end of each practice, everyone was exhausted. Madame Giry also seemed to be making the choreography challenging for the dancers, knowing that Erik would've wanted his opera to be known as a strenuous work for only the best of artists. Meg was given a solo part, and even she complained to her strict mother about the difficulty of the movements. The minute-est details had to be corrected or they appeared wrong. But the worst part was completing a series of multiple pirouettes on pointe followed by a grand jete into the arms of her partner. Her shorter stature made the leaps even harder for the blonde to perform, and she was meant to keep a teasing-vixen look on her face the entire time.

For Christine, the most challenging part of _Don Juan_ was having to sing the suggestive lyrics to Piangi, the only man with the correct voice similar to the requirements of the part opposite of Amnita. He had never been too kind to the girl, always around that awful Carlotta who tormented Christine. Additionally, the Italian man was not exactly up to the appearance of a suave, debonair Don that could sweep a lady off her feet. She wished that her tutor's heavenly voice would be the one accompanying hers on stage.

"This is one of the few times you've actually joined everyone for dinner, Christine!" A younger ballerina named Claudine commented upon seeing the brunette enter beside Meg.

"Pardon me, Claudine. My instructor was very demanding and it was impossible for me to join everyone for dinner every night." Christine explained with a tone of finality, not wishing to discuss anything further.

"And it was all worth it in the end, what an amazing voice she has!" Meg cheered, sensing her friend's discomfort as they sat down at a table.

The other girls nodded in agreement and continued their boisterous chatting. But the brunette singer couldn't find herself fitting into the group of talkative ballet corps: she was so accustomed to eating leftovers later after having a wonderful music-filled evening with the Angel. This environment felt discomforting and foreign, even with Meg beside her.

In her own silence, Christine could only think of wondered how he was faring in that subterranean home of his, especially since Madame Giry said he was more afflicted than she'd been. The ache in her heart was caused from her worry over him and the desire to return to the lair. But it would be difficult to locate the way back on her own, even more so since Christine had only just recovered.

The brunette finished quickly, excusing herself from the table and not being missed by the crowd of gossiping girls. She walked alone through the dark, stone hallway to the dormitory and reminisced of times when her Angel's voice called her away. Erik would sing, somehow making his voice seem to appear from every corner of the room, and young Christine couldn't resist seeking out its source. The memories caused her almost to hear his singing once more, although she knew he was likely sitting at his organ in his sickly state. It was torturous to be without him.

Outside of the window, the moon was glowing brightly with twinkling stars dotting the black sky, which acted like a cloak over them. The delicate light was the only thing calming Christine in the night. If it wasn't for the tranquil view, the girl could've stayed awake until the wee hours of morning thinking about her poor Erik. But she fell into a soft sleep, dreaming of simpler times with her father in Perros-Guirec or back in the chapel when she first heard her Angel.


	22. Chapter 22: Before Don Juan

"Do not allow your voice to lose its power, Mademoiselle!" Reyer shouted from the orchestra pit.

Christine was finding it difficult to harness the correct tone and passion required for the scene, from her inexperience with such deep emotions as well as not feeling any sort of attraction to Piangi. He seemed to have lost some of his confidence after noticing the failures of Carlotta and any other cast members that acted poorly to Mademoiselle Daae. Opera Ghost or not, the Italian man knew something was protecting her.

"I apologize Monsieur Reyer." Christine said, staring down at the wooden floors in shame.

"No, no! I don't need your kindnesses- rather your talent to be put to use. Think of anything that makes you feel spell-bound, emblazoned, inspired...whatever it is that has made your voice soar so beautifully to the audiences." The conductor instructed, waving his arms about for emphasis.

"Yes, of course. Thank you for the advice." She nodded, stepping back to her original position in the scene to restart the blocking.

The song was played from the beginning again, this time with Christine keeping her mind focused on everything Erik had shown her in his realm. Imagining her Angel in Piangi's place brought her clear, goddess-like voice out of its hiding and it gloriously echoed through the theatre. It used to frighten her that she felt this brazen way towards her own instructor...but the devotion was true and deep, completely impossible to ignore.

Besides, these feelings inspired her voice to perform as required by Reyer and she would need such thoughts to please the directors with her work. Christine needed to do especially well to persuade her Angel to rejoin her and to honor his beautiful opera. Her imagination wildly thought of being with Erik again, embracing him or watching him be struck with passion in playing his music. Reyer was impressed with the result of his advice, especially at his knowledge of Christine being quite an innocent girl.

* * *

Every day passed with a grueling monotony. Christine did her best to sound emphatic in her singing during rehearsals but it became increasingly difficult as more and more time had gone by without seeing Erik. Many of the ballerinas or chorus girls would remark how lifeless she acted- not bothering to really converse with anyone, not even Meg. The blonde girl would tell the worried Raoul about Christine's conditions whenever he came to visit strictly under "responsibilities of the patron".

Dress rehearsals were underway, the show taking place the next evening and anxiety bubbling in the air. As always, everything seemed to be mediocre just before the performance: messy choreography, incorrect singing pitches or rhythms, orchestra members getting lost in their music, sets falling apart, stage managers forgetting their cues to move scenery, costumes being incomplete. The pressure of having everything completed by the next night was enough to make Firmin and Andre bustle around the theatre with bottles of rum in their hands.

Madame Giry sternly scolded her students and forced them to spend an additional three hours getting the choreography exactly as she wanted. Having made the agreement with Erik, the woman was ensured that he would be somewhere within the theatre watching his masterpiece and would be dreadfully disappointed if the dancing was unfitting.

As everyone left for whatever dinner arrangements they had planned, Christine joining the ballerinas, the theatre was finally quiet. All of the lights were extinguished and the stage managers left for home. Erik, in his still weakened state, slipped amongst the shadows to fix the errors of the idiotic theatre personnel. He secured the ropes in the rafters the proper way, dabbled some quick-drying paints onto set pieces, removed unnecessary scenery items, and stitched strands of lace or pearls into the costumes.

The masked man stood in the rafters after all the work was done, longingly sighing from watching his dear Christine but not being able to interact with her just yet. Anticipation of talking to her, seeing her face-to-face, hearing her perfect voice was torturous for Erik. There was something else he felt the need to do, not simply observe from his secret passageways. Erik was struck with an idea and vanished immediately to plot out the events of tomorrow night, for they would be quite show-stopping.

* * *

"I expect you will be watching the opera tomorrow, monsieur?" Meg asked her dinner partner, who'd so kindly invited her out to an elegant restaurant where all of the socialites dined.

"Of course, it would be improper for the patron not to attend a performance of his investment." Raoul chuckled.

The pair become quite friendly to one another over the few weeks, both happening to be concerned for Christine's wellbeing and interested in one another. With an increased proximity and care for one another, Raoul felt it only right to court the girl properly.

"It will be quite a unique opera. Did Christine tell you her own instructor composed it? His music sounds like nothing we usually perform."

"Yes, I've heard that." He muttered bitterly before continuing in his cheerful tone, "I look forward to hearing her sing and seeing the ballet. All of Paris shall rejoice in your triumphs."

Meg blushed the color of her pink satin gown, her light blue eyes shining brightly in the candlelight glow.

" _Maman_ has been tirelessly prodding all of the dancers to perfect every little detail of her choreography. I've never had to practice a routine nearly this much in my life! You'd think she was making us perform for the king!"

"I can only imagine the difficulty of such complex artistic forms. Monsieur Daae, Christine's father, was meant to be my violin tutor but I, regrettably, could never quite grasp the technique necessary for it."

"Is that how you met Christine?" Meg questioned in a child-like curiosity.

"Yes, all that time ago back in Perros-Guirec when we were very young. I caught a terrible cold trying to rescue her red scarf from the sea; the wind swept it away and she was crying so I acted the gentleman, running into the cold water to save the scarf."

"How very noble! Were you always so heroic?"

"Only for pretty maidens." Raoul teased.


	23. Chapter 23: Don Juan

The Populaire was entirely full of wealthy opera devotees, each dressed in lavish fineries to display their social status. Some of the younger dancers peeked from the wings into the audience, noticing glimmering gems of the ladies' jewelry shining in the dark and feeling nerves pumping through their veins. Christine was still in her dressing room, missing the presence of her instructor but hoping that he was still nearby. She had just been dressed in her Amnita ensemble.

In the all-too-familiar mirror she stared at the character before her. This young woman appeared sensual and independent, innocence only lurking in her shining blue eyes. A tight black bodice shaped her torso and pressed her chest upwards suggestively, a light ruffled blouse underneath providing a touch of modesty. The skirt was a rich burgundy lace forming layers more revealing of body shape than regular gowns. A matching set of rosettes lined the crown of her head and garnets were placed within the hairpiece.

Madame Giry called her to the stage, wishing her luck and reminding Christine that she was meant to finally see Erik after the show. He would undoubtedly be listening to the performance of his own work from somewhere within the grand architecture. And with this motivation, the young soprano took the expansive stage then sang her heart out for him. It was her few lines of aria-like singing before stalking around the dining table alluringly. She admired the sheer red and black fabrics hung all over the background while waiting for her opposite to re-enter the scene.

The deep voice started from behind her, its perfection captivating the girl and stunning the audience of Piangi's talent. However, Christine soon realized that it was not the Italian man...but was most definitely Erik. She had unintentionally reacted to the beauty of her partner's voice yet it improved Amnita's appearance of intoxication. It was no longer acting once Christine turned her head and saw Erik dressed most stylishly with Don Juan's black mask on his face. What a clever man he was to design the character so fittingly, just for the chance to jump onstage.

For a moment Christine wondered what happened to the actual Piangi. But stopping the show would anger the directors and disappoint the audience, plus the Italian singer was probably just locked in one of the dressing rooms. The girl continued to be enthralled by the dramatic, cloaked character opposite her. Her heart thundered even more when being approached by him and feeling the tight grasp of his arms around her waist. She started to sing with him a few lines later.

Their voices were entwined in a passionate duet. All the other cast members stared in shock from the wings at the demure girl's brash acting, and at "Piangi's" sudden alteration in appearance. Everyone's eyes were fixed upon the two performers grasping onto each other and singing of future ecstasy in their love. The final lines of the song were sung, quieting down to an intimate breathy tone.

Something suddenly switched off in Erik's mind, his golden eyes shining with mischief as he pulled at one of the stage's many ropes. A trapdoor dropped open beneath their feet, both of them falling through the bottom of the stage and down to one of Erik's phantom pathways. Gasps sounded from the audience as the opera was cut off shortly and the stars vanished.

"Erik! Did I do something wrong? Surely you wouldn't have stopped your opera if I hadn't." Christine spoke to him for the first time in weeks.

"On the contrary, my dear. You were too splendid for such an undeserving and pompous crowd. Your part was played perfectly; the innocence shone even through this costume and the brazen movements of your entrance. Truly, darling Christine, you have fulfilled all my wishes for you."

"I am glad to have pleased you, Angel. But why did you stop the show?"

"Curious as ever. I couldn't bear to let you finish something so _burning_ that _consumed me_ for years on end as you do...the both combined was simply too much for your poor Erik. And those idiotic, unappreciative nobles without an inkling of musical understanding shall never hear your heavenly voice until they gain such knowledge! I can't stand their habits of attending operas only for social status."

"Perhaps. Why did you leave me?" She questioned as Erik guided her through the dark paths.

"Your poor Erik was troubled and believed it would be best for you, darling Christine, to remain with the eager Vicomte."

"I refused to see him while sick. Besides, it was torturous to remain all that time without my Angel and even more so during rehearsals with Piangi as Don Juan."

"Speaking of which, it would do well to burn off his hands for touching you." He growled, turning around a corner of the pathway and leading them immediately to his home.

Everything had been just as it was: a plethora of burning candles, several pink flower petals in the water, leather-bound books lining the walls, lovely sketches pinned up, furniture fit for a king, and musical items splayed all over the place. It was comforting, familiar, and luxurious. Christine wondered what it must've been like to live here all the time as Erik did.

She imagined such a life for a moment. Reading to pass time, singing with Erik, listening to his splendid talents, visiting the world above every so often, and never having to suffer through being without her Angel again. But such would be considered so improper by society, especially as they weren't married and scandals were already circling around the young soprano. Would Christine want to marry her masked instructor anyways? He'd been a man when she first arrived and deceived her for all of those years. Erik didn't seem to be one to follow tradition anyways. Yet, he was also incredibly unpredictable.

Christine was distracted from her thoughts when being offered tea. Politely refusing, and noticing Erik's gaze upon her feminine form in the Amnita gown, elegantly draped herself over the extravagant sofa nearby. He stared at her as though she was the beautiful painting of a famous master. The glowing candle lighting made the actress appear even more heavenly in his home and posed so exquisitely.

Erik was further discomforted as each moment passed by, seeing the talented and beautiful girl before him with an impossible loving look in her eyes. The clean, white lace trim of her gown lied perfectly over her pale skin and contrasted against the thicker black material over the torso. Seeing that Erik was frightened to make a motion, Christine stood from her seat and placing herself directly beside him and almost in his lap. Her slim arms loosely wrapped over his shoulders and only then did she wait for Erik to respond.

"Are you feeling quite alright, dear Christine?" He questioned with a quiver in his powerful voice.

"Yes, my Angel." She claimed, moving a few strands of his dark hair away from his mask.

"This is not very pro-"

"Do I appear to care for propriety at the moment? I just finished singing a seductive duet with you in a costume consisting of much less layers than regular clothes. Additionally, you dropped us through a trapdoor in the stage floor and brought me here. If you haven't noticed, the propriety has been forgotten."

Erik was emboldened by her speech: "You are quite right my dear, but is the little lamb sure she wants to taunt the hungry lion?"

A sparkling smile and glimmer in her eyes was the response Christine gave him. His heart pained and thundered all at once just thinking of how compliant the girl was and the idea of things he'd only imagined actually coming true. Erik had endured some of the worst pains known to humankind, and yet it was the thought of pleasure and delight that made him feel faint.

"What was it you sang in that song when you first brought me down here? _Let your fantasies unwind_ , yes? By all means, please do so _mon Ange_."

He groaned and allowed his hands to wander over her back and sides, "Little minx on my lap."

"Please Erik." She pouted.

He brought his lips up to her smooth neck, working to mark her as his own. A much more innocent kiss had always been denied to him, even by the mother he never got to know, and such refusals made him, as a child, believe that one could die from kissing him in all his monstrosity. How Christine had proven him wrong! She seemed to liven a different side of herself upon being with him in such positions.

As one of Erik's expertly musical hands slinked its way up her thigh, pushing the skirt up and revealing her pale skin, Christine pressed her small palms over his slim chest while gasping in shock of his actions. The girl was like one of the many instruments Erik could play with his talent, though he loved her several times more than his music. Music was incapable of judgement, bringing him pleasure, comfort, and self-expression. But Christine was a dream, an impossibility: a person, much more a beautiful _girl_ , was able to tolerate him and even care for him.

The girl regained her senses as Erik's grip loosened slightly, this time returning Erik's actions. She turned to face him better, shifting her legs to either side of him and taking his face in both hands. With lightning speed, Christine removed the mask to kiss him fully, nothing restricting her access. Erik lifted the girl, firmly grasping her just above the hips and carried her through to her room.

Their contact only broke when Christine was set down upon the elegant bed sheets, the lace of her dress matching that of the frilled pillow case and blanket edges. Christine's rich curls fanned out over the burgundy silk as she watched the stoic look in Erik's face, seeing expression only in his dark eyes. His hands pushed down the sleeves and removed the dress, surprised to notice she wasn't wearing a corset nor petticoat underneath. She was then dressed only in ballet pink stockings with garters, a white chemise, and drawers lined with embroidered lace.

What a sight it was: the angelic soprano lying peacefully over the luxurious bed fit for a queen and the rest of the room decorated just as nicely. Pale pink roses, white lilies, and lilac orchids bordered her bed with several of his fragrant candles being the only source of illumination for the room. The sight of Christine in such picturesque surroundings was an ideal image for even the best of artists.

"This is the most heavenly sight my eyes have beheld." Erik whispered, gently leaning over her to make more marks on her pale skin.

"Oh Erik, this is the worst form of torture."

"But I've barely begun, my dear, perhaps I should stop..." He teased.

"Stop now and it'll be the last thing you do." Christine threatened.

"Then I shall fulfill your wish, your highness."

With that, Erik pulled off the remaining clothes, leaving Christine in her stockings and garters. Her blue eyes mirrored the expression of a doe catching sight of the hunter about to go in for the kill. As he watched her fascinated look, he allowed his skeletal, ungloved hands roam over her perfect for in addition to his thin, and partially bloated, lips. She gasped and emitted kitten-like mewls with each of his motions. Erik knew even from this first experience that this was his favorite music to create.

In between gasps she managed to mumble: "E-Erik..."

"Yes, dearest?"

"Please allow me to return the favor."

"I shan't ask that of you."

"But you aren't, I wish for you to enjoy this as well."

"Believe me, Christine, this is plenty enjo-" He halted, gasping at the feeling of Christine's smaller hands reaching at and below his hips.

The minx smirked at seeing the rare sight of Erik's reactions being outside of his control as he molded against her palm. Her other hand urged his frame to hover right over her own. Their lips were practically always connected, separating only for air and to gasp at the other's bold movements. Both of them knew the night would not be one easily forgotten, and not just because it was the premiere of Erik's _Don Juan_. His opera had been almost entirely disregarded in the events of the evening.


	24. Chapter 24: New Composition

There was so much Erik wanted to do in that moment: endlessly stare at the angel beside him, entangle his fingers in her curls, caress her soft-skinned face, hold her small hand between his own, kiss her swan-like neck, or freeze the picture forever. It was not a lasting fantasy, Erik knew that. His terrifying face was no sight for a beautiful soprano to see regularly and he wouldn't force Christine to remain with him any longer. He wallowed in despair until Christine stirred. Her blue eyes opened with a flutter of her dark eyelashes, a smile appearing upon seeing Erik sitting in the bed beside her.

"Good morning my dear." Erik smiled bitterly in return.

Christine sighed in contempt, "Good morning."

"I have been quite a demon to you, my apologies."

"Perhaps, but I haven't objected."

He cleared his throat at her comment, "That is not what I meant, Christine. I snatched you away and offered you no choice-"

"Not at all, I have consented to everything. What is this about Erik?"

"You deserve a regular living with the Vicomte, or some other suitor, as I have done nothing but harm you."

"I have rejected Raoul and suffered through your disappearance. How could I refuse my caring tutor since childhood? "

"That is exactly my point, I lied to you for several years and took advantage of your naivety. I was already a man when I saw you as a slip of a girl in the chapel- that is simply obscene!"

"Clearly you haven't observed the custom of marriage. Most ladies marry men of status and wealth, not for love. I don't wish to make the mistake of these young women who commit themselves into abusive husbands simply to live with a title."

"What a brilliant girl you are, my Christine! But I am no kindly young man suitable for yourself. You have seen my monstrous face and temper."

"Neither of which have frightened me away. Erik, you must see that I'm no fragile porcelain doll that will shatter at a mere touch."

He tried to find words to respond, but wasn't able to find a fitting rebuttal to her declaration. With a sigh, Erik gave in and pulled the blanket over his scarred chest as a cover. Christine smiled in victory.

In the distance, the alarm sounded and alerted Erik. He shot up from the bed and dressed with haste in his usual dress clothes. Replacing the mask, he left Christine briefly to investigate which invader had dared come into his lair. He struggled slightly to step through the cragged stone path along the lake and concealed himself in the shadows while watching out for the wanderer.

His mind conjured up an image of the brave, young Vicomte looking helpless through the tunnels and nearly stumbling over his own feet. Unfortunately, his fantasy was proven wrong upon seeing the Daroga disappointedly stamping through the pathways. Erik stepped out and creeped up behind him to frighten the Persian man. The Daroga yelped in surprise, then swatted the masked man away.

The disappointed expression reappeared, but the pair walked back to Erik's abode before any conversation was made outside of casual greetings. They sat down in the drawing room and the Persian began by asking whether Christine was present nearby. Erik confirmed his belief, resulting in the Daroga yelling at him in his native tongue so as the girl wouldn't understand the conversation.

"How could you have the audacity to kidnap a girl again? And so publicly!" He shouted.

"I'm well aware that my actions were irrational, but everything was consensual besides the trapdoor in the stage." Erik retorted.

"What are you speaking of?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Daroga."

"Don't tell me you lied to and _with_ her."

A snide smirk formed on Erik's face, "If I wasn't so protective of my dear Christine, I'd invite you to find out for yourself."

"I'd congratulate you for finding an admirable lady, but your methods were anything but honest! You've abused her trust and put her in danger."

"I've expressed those thoughts to her and she is stubborn as a mule. She is-"

Erik was cut off by the sound of Christine's light footsteps entering the room. The girl was dressed in her underclothes and covered herself with a long silk robe, walking with a slight limp. She greeted the Daroga politely, feeling confused by his appalled expression.

"Um...hello Ch-Christine." The Perisan man stuttered.

Erik still smirked, oozing a confident attitude.

"Good morning messier Daroga."

"I must apologize for intruding on your morning and pulling Erik from your side, but it was all from concern for you after the events of _Don Juan_."

"All is forgiven, I appreciate your care for my wellbeing. Although I must ask why you stated that Erik was beside me, as I was in bed."

"Don't fret, my dear," Erik began, "The Daroga is a wise man who used visual clues to figure out what people had been doing for a living. Besides, he knows you to be a lovely girl of great honor."

The mentioned man was discomforted between them.

Erik continued, "Additionally, my dear, he doesn't believe that you were willing in all of this. I'm not quite Hades, abductor of the pretty goddess Persephone."

"I did not call you Ha-" The Daroga retorted before being gently cut off by Christine.

"If you excuse me, messier, I was in such a miserable state while Erik left me alone and the only part he did not ask me permission in was invading his own opera."

"I'm glad you have accepted him and disproved my assumptions. My apologies for disrupting your morning; I shall leave you both alone but warn Erik to be as courteous to you as he has been and not to wreak havoc on innocent people."

With that, the Daroga left through one of the several trails beneath the Populaire and Erik sighed in relief. He was grateful that his friend did not attempt to remove Christine from his lair nor bring someone like Raoul down with him. The girl maintained her content smile and looked towards her "captor".

Her long silk robe, upon further view, was not as concealing as Erik believed. It appeared to very lightly conceal Christine's practically bare form. Underneath, only a see-through chemise and tight corset were visible. White slippers covered her small ballerina feet and, once she sat down, the silk material rode up to her knees. Erik was in agony thinking of her unique frame: the dips on her hips, beauty marks sparsely dotting her entire body, prominent collar bones, slightly protruding abdomen, elegant curve of her back, strong calves, slim wrists, and petite girlish chest. Especially after the previous night.

In his mind, music started to form. A dramatic, rising violin line soared in incredibly high notes with romantic-style intervals that sounded just like the feeling of slowly rising anticipation or a blooming rose bud. Erik felt as though he were floating whenever he touched Christine, and his music would have to reflect it. Perhaps it wouldn't be as long as his _Don Juan_ but it would be more beautiful and inspiring.

He noticed Christine's disappointed expression when his mind seemed far-off and he began walking out of the room. Erik was like a madman- only focused on the consuming task of writing a piece and translating his feelings, which was hard enough to do with words, into music. It was a challenge alone to avoid knocking over the black ink. Christine cautiously approached him only several minutes later, asking if her Angel was alright. She momentarily distracted Erik as he affirmed that it was just some music that he was composing and it needed to be written down before he forgot. By the early evening, the song was roughly composed on his parchment in messy black ink and he tested it on his violin.


	25. Chapter 25: The Gifts

\- - - Current time - - -

That was his last unfinished composition. It wasn't that Erik died- on the contrary, he started living and he rest of his pieces were completed. There was just something of his emotions he never could understand nor translate into music. The incomplete copy was a full 5-movement symphony consisting of 47 pages per part and requiring a full orchestra for performance. It needed a finale. Something as dramatic, beautiful, and infatuating as the rest of it but different from the other movements. The composer took his old work in his hands and reminisced over anything he could remember that involved Christine, hoping to complete the piece.

\- - - Back to the past - - -

Months passed since Christine completely resided in the depths of the Populaire with Erik. She came above for rehearsals after things had calmed and played her roles more perfectly than before. True, there was a commotion when she first re-appeared after _Don Juan_ and she was forced to make up a story about the events of its only performance. The stage floor was inspected and repaired- the managers couldn't afford to have an accident with their stars.

Meg was soon arranged to marry the Vicomte and Erik busied himself with finding a nearby, above-ground, home to show Christine. The ballerina asked her soprano friend to help with the wedding plans, granting Erik plenty of time to make his own plans for impressing Christine. He purchased a spacious home in the midst of Paris, very close to the Populaire, and was furnishing each room as ornately as those found in a palace.

Everything had to be done with a new mask he designed; it was so thin and skin-like that the sellers believed it to be his real face. The detailed mask also had some age-defining wrinkles that mirrored the normal side of his visage and made it appear ever more realistic. An added benefit to avoid curiosity towards his face was the demonstration of his wealth and willingness to pay for costlier items.

The Daroga inspected the home once it was completed, surprised at Erik's interior design skills and the energy he was spending on giving Christine a proper home. He also was glad that his friend's new home wasn't very far from his own and he would be able to regularly check in on the pair. Erik's progress in dealing with people had vastly improved.

With all of his secret projects and the items he planned to purchase, Erik made it a priority to make it back down to the underground home before Christine's rehearsals were finished. Inquiries for architectural work were made to secure a profession outside of pretending to be a spirit so Erik could make further income in a more honorable fashion. The masked man guided his dear soprano down through the tunnels every evening after her rehearsals then worked on building sketches to present while Christine occupied herself with books, sleep, or dining.

"Meg can't seem to decide if she wants white or pink roses in her bouquet, and she insists on a proper white gown like Queen Victoria's. Raoul is sending her to this well-recommended seamstress tomorrow for a gown and she's invited me along. Do you mind if I come back later tomorrow evening?" Christine asked.

"Not at all, my dear. Frolic with your friends as you please, for I cannot imagine how bored you must be of my company day by day." Erik shrugged, drawing a perfect curved roof of some conservatory building plan.

"You are very entertaining, Erik, and thank you for your consent. I only mentioned it so you wouldn't worry and so I could get back down since these pathways are so complicated. Anyways, what is it that you're writing or drawing there?"

"An architectural design for a new conservatory to be built in Marseille."

"How wonderful! You have two professions? I still know so little of you, Erik!"

"Ask me anything whenever you please, Christine. The answers may not be the most pleasing, but I will be completely honest with you."

"I admire your honorability."

"Its existence is only for you. I cannot stand anyone else."

"Perhaps you will think differently in the future."

The evening continued until the brunette grew sleepy and retired to bed, leaving Erik to his drawing. As soon as she closed the bedroom door, the masked man set down his sketch and went through his tunnels in a mad hurry to visit the other residence. There he kept all of the other trinkets he meant to woo Christine with in a month's time. It would be just enough time passage after Meg was married to the Vicomte before he attempted to make an official proposal to his beloved soprano.

It had become an almost nightly routine for him to visit the other home and inspect everything he'd bought or created. Multiple paintings adorned the walls, each of them painstakingly crafted by Erik himself. Some of them were based off his old charcoal sketches of Christine, others were still life pieces that involved music in one way or another. These he knew would be received positively, as the girl seemed to like his artwork.

The new music room was more organized: his pieces were neatly placed into labeled folders which lay on the cherry wood table and a sleek black grand piano was arranged in one corner. He created a special hanger for his violin to keep it on the wall and for easy access in case of those times he was struck with inspiration. Gilded porcelain figurines and vases were placed around each room as décor, contrasting well against the dark wood throughout the interior.

All of the gifts Erik found for his beloved ingenue were wrapped and placed within the drawing room. Here he had regal necklaces, watercolor paint sets, pearl or diamond-studded hair accessories, several fine gowns, books of pretty poems that Christine may enjoy, silk gloves, and sweetly fragrant perfumes. The masked man knew she would refuse it all, but he felt it necessary. A pristine white wedding gown was the only thing he had left to purchase; the ring he had possessed for several months and kept it hidden in his pockets or in one of the music rooms.

The process of purchasing the ring was arduous and the Daroga had almost lost his patient temper over Erik's behavior in that jewelry shop. It took him an hour alone to decide whether the expertly-cut diamond should be placed between pink tourmalines or deep blue sapphires. In the end, he chose a set of lighter sapphires that were comparable to the lovely color of Christine's eyes. All of the stones were perfectly inlaid within some sterling silver intricately-carved in the Victorian style. It had to be perfect.

Once he returned to the subterranean lair, Erik checked on the sleeping girl in her elegant bedroom. She looked peaceful and angelic, completely lacking any worries from the stressful rehearsals during the day.

"Goodnight, _ma petite_ , I apologize for leaving you." He whispered, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.

Then the creeping feeling of fear punctured the sweetness of the moment; Erik was still afraid that the kind soprano would realize what kind of monstrous man she had stayed with for so long and vanish from his life. That fate would be worse than if he'd died in Persia with the sadistic royal family or if he'd bled out in that traveling circus. Having been shown Heaven, he wasn't ready for the condemnation that awaited him in Hell.


	26. Chapter 26: The New Home

"Where _are_ you taking me? I can't pacify my curiosity any longer." Christine pleaded to the Daroga.

"My dear, Erik has sworn to stitch my mouth shut if I even hint at where I'm taking you. It's a risk I cannot afford, for he is a very illogical man at times." The Persian assured her.

"Ah, so this is entirely Erik's plan?"

"I have said too much." He mumbled, guiding Christine towards a street of beautiful buildings just across from some small shops.

The soprano's wide eyes gazed fascinatedly at everything surrounding her. It was as though she were in her own romanticized world with her delicate smile and the childlike wonder in her eyes. The Daroga could never understand how Christine ever did come to loving Erik the way she did, especially after the madness of his friend pretending to be a phantom instructor. But here he was, leading the willing girl to Erik for a surprise.

Towards the end of the street, they stopped and the Daroga led them towards the doorway of the prettiest building. The heavy door was opened by an elegantly-dressed Erik, to Christine's surprise, and he welcomed them inside. Everything was so ornate and luxurious, more beautiful than even a castle. She was amazed by the white lace sheers on each window, the exotic flowers in porcelain vases, expensive acrylic or oil paintings, rich wooden tables, sets of crystal drinking ware, hand-painted china sets, and fine furniture to lounge upon.

Still in a state of surprise, Christine had only greeted Erik upon seeing him and gazed at the grand sights inside of the home. The two men sat in the living room, laughing to themselves about the girl's starry-eyed look. Slowly, she made her way over to the sofa Erik was seated on and joined him with several questions in her mind.

"Whose home is this?" She asked, still looking all over the room.

"I bought it, of course." Erik shrugged casually, though his heart was pounding for what was to come.

Her eyes widened, "Are you joking? You must be; after all, you lived under the opera all this time."

"No this is no joke, Christine. I _do_ own this property and everything in it."

"It is simply marvelous Erik! Though, why did you not bring me here yourself?"

"This was meant to be a surprise," He paused, "Because it's not just _my_ home."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, well a home is not just a place for a person to...well be solitary and ehm, simply _occupy_ even as I'm not the most regular fellow...it would be unfortunate to-" Erik stuttered.

His Persian friend butted in: "What Erik means to say is that he wishes to share his home...with you."

"Thank you, Daroga." Erik muttered, blushing terribly under the mask.

Christine was stunned in her seat and stared blankly at her tutor of several years not knowing what to say. Perhaps it was a simple invitation to continue improperly living together unmarried, but in an above-ground home. But part of her was hoping that it included a marriage proposal, just to fulfill what her father always wished for her- a family and a home. This offer was more than Christine or her dear father could have ever imagined.

"Everything is fully furnished, there is a full dresser of clothes for you as well. If there is anything that doesn't please you I will rid of it immediately and I can bring things from below the Populaire, which happens to be a mere walk further down the road." Erik tried to persuade her.

"I would delight in still remaining below the Populaire so you needn't even ask me if I _want_ to live here. And there was no reason whatsoever for you to purchase anything at all solely on my account." Christine smiled.

"As glad as I am to hear that, my offer extends to solve the improper living arrangement we've been under for a while now. I would like to ask for your hand." Erik confessed, getting down to kneel on the floor and reveal the ring from his pocket.

Christine stood up in shocked delight. Their position, and the girl's wide skirts, hid her uncontrollable tears from Erik's view as he waited for her response. With each fraction of a second, the masked man grew increasingly anxious- his heart beating louder, blood pulsing harder, hands slightly shaking against his will, lungs needing more air, and mind coming up with a million questions as to why Christine hadn't said anything yet.

In all the pressure, the Daroga had been completely forgotten. He sat ever-calmly in the same seat and watched the girl's expression for a clue as to what she may say. It seemed very unlikely for her to reject Erik's proposal, but his previous actions were beyond unthinkable and easily good reasons for her to do so. The Daroga remained quiet and was prepared to intervene in only if absolutely necessary.

After her eyes lingered over the precision and detail of the ring presented to her, Christine finally mustered some words in response: "I-I...y-yes."

"You accept?" Erik questioned, eyes round as saucers and grasping Christine's hand firmer.

Nodding slowly and smiling wider, she gradually met his gaze then almost whispered: "Yes, Erik."

The masked man stood up before her and froze with the same surprised look on his half-covered face. Their hands were still connected so Christine took the liberty of slipping the ring onto her slim finger and seeing how it looked placed on her hand.

Just the sight of that little piece of jewelry on her finger made his head spin. His most beautiful and wishful dream had just come true with this angel of a girl. There was a willing grin on her face, maybe even some honest delight in her shining eyes. Erik seemed incapable of believing what just occurred, so he fainted right into the hands of the Daroga and his new fiancée.


	27. Chapter 27: The End

\- - - Current time - - -

It was a fondly remembered day for Erik, even though he did faint and found it difficult to remain steady on his feet for the next few minutes. No expense would be spared to make Christine happy. She was sent to an expensive shop for a dress, and the soprano picked out the simplest one possible. Her flowers were pink roses and her only request was to be married in a church. The guests were to be Meg, Mme. Giry, the Daroga, and (begrudgingly on Erik's part) Raoul.

The morning of the wedding involved the masked man being incredibly nervous the entire time in a hidden room where the Daroga was desperately trying to relieve his irrational anxieties. Finally, Erik was persuaded out onto the altar with the thin, leather mask he'd made just for the occasion- it was just the same color as his skin tone and had many little indents for texture to make it appear more realistic. The priest smiled to him in greeting and the Daroga sat down, weary, with the other guests. Erik distracted himself with anything he could see in the room: white ribbons, pink roses, candles, religious icons, the sunlight perfectly illuminating the room, until all he could fixate himself on were the toes of his shoes.

Meg arrived shortly, walking down the aisle as the sole bridesmaid and signaling that the bride would be entering soon. Christine made her way through the tall doors slowly, feeling overwhelmed by emotions and overall very happy about the event. A childlike glimmer shined in her blue eyes upon seeing Erik's surprise and delight upon seeing her. She donned a very traditional, but stunning, A-line gown that fit her simple frame perfectly. A veil thinly hid away her face until she reached the altar, motioning for Erik to place the front portion of it on the other side. They didn't even hear the proceedings of the wedding until the very end.

"Do you take this woman to be your bride?" Asked the monotonous voice of the priest.

"Yes." Erik confirmed.

Christine mimicked his responses and excitedly smiled, knowing the next words would bring Erik to bashfully kiss her in front of everyone.

The party traveled then to the Populaire. It was the place where everything had started for them: Erik's first encounter of the young Christine in her grievance, the Giry's meeting with Christine, the soprano's unexpected success, and her home for almost the entirety of her life. The expansive front room was vacant, besides the staff Erik had secretly hired to surprise his new wife to provide anything needed to them for the rest of the day. There was much dancing, and even some singing, but even more pure happiness after all of the previous chaos that surrounded them.

Unknown to them, a dear girl would join their newly formed family within the following year or so. Erik spoiled her like a duchess, granting whatever wishes the modest girl would merely think of. She hadn't been musically gifted, but rather enjoyed learning he art of ballet from her auntie Meg who later met a wealthy merchant to marry. Raoul went off to an expedition to Antarctica with his fellow Navy men, but sadly didn't return after a dreadful storm that downed their ships. Madame Giry remained as a grandmother figure to Erik and Christine's daughter until later passing away of old age in the girl's teenage years. The Daroga was finally able to retire from his chaperone position and spent his time traveling then occasionally visiting his masked friend's family.

"Erik, dear, it's the Daroga! He's finally returned from Persia and Japan." Christine announced.

"Wonderful. He should go back and leave me alone, I no longer need an advisor." Erik would grumble jokingly.

"Uncle Daroga?" Their daughter called excitedly, knowing that his presence always involved wise words and stories that embarrassed her stoic, but caring father.

But Erik was not nearly in the same health as Christine after twenty years had passed since their union. He'd spent all those decades beaten in a cage, below the opera house, and never having adequate time for things like sleep. An illness was growing in his body, but he never dared to confess the truth to Christine and his daughter. He wrote music that resembled the bleaker, bittersweet melodies of dying composers as a way to cope with his condition. Erik prepared his will, knowing that it would soon be put to use.

He couldn't complain, even after all of the brutalities he endured. It allowed him to truly cherish everything in his current life: his family, the Daroga's loyalty, his home, and all of the other things he'd never dreamt of having in his life. Erik could happily, but unwillingly, die at peace.

Every day could've been his last and he treated them as such. Any wish that his daughter or wife had was fulfilled, and he behaved only with kindness to them. He even spent time with the cats and dog of the house, despite how he was usually loving but indifferent to them.

But the secret was up when his condition worsened and became too obvious to deny. His dear family and friends were devastated, absolutely pained to imagine losing him. It was endearing to see their affection, but Erik wasn't ready to leave them. Their family friends all remained near the estate and stayed at his bedside when he became critically ill. He died smiling, unmasked, holding the hands of his beloved Christine and his dear daughter.


End file.
